


Are we happy now?

by Frieda Echte (Plommesill)



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, In Character, Life isn't always easy, M/M, POV Even Bech Næsheim, POV Isak Valtersen, Some humour, True Love, all is love, and some pain too, maybe bordering on smut sometimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 19:33:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 33,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11743710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plommesill/pseuds/Frieda%20Echte
Summary: I catch Evens eye, wink at him. «Are you ok?» he shapes soundless words in my direction. I am fucking ok, this is the best birthday, the phattest friends, the hottest boyfriend. I am holding a beer, life is good. I'm smiling, I probably look like a lunatic.This story follows Isak and Even through their first summer together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Er vi lykkelige no?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11589855) by [Frieda Echte (Plommesill)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plommesill/pseuds/Frieda%20Echte). 



> The original story is written in Norwegian. The English version is translated by kind and wonderful QueenSylvana, I can't thank her enough!
> 
> The first chapter has quite a few references to Even's day in the last week of season 4. We set of at Isak's birthday party, and the story incorporates previous conversation that day, as well as the text messages Isak and Even send each other later in the evening.
> 
> Hopefully you will find this enjoyable, please drop me a comment if you do, I am one of those fic vampires that positively feed on them <3

**I will make a movie about you  
18:22 ISAK**

My friends are performing for me, bellowing out “Happy Birthday”. It's funny, but hardly beautiful. They haven’t bothered standing up. They are scattered, most of them half-reclining on fleece throws with various Disney prints. Eskild, no doubt, found them on offer at the pound shop. I am seated on Elsa's face. There's some symbolism here that I can't quite grasp. But I rest assured that my better half, the movie buff, will have an opinion on this later. It will probably entail watching _Frost_ again, to which I will agree, as negotiations tend to make Even pretty inventive in the bedroom. Eskild and Vilde are leading the song, but I suspect Even has asked them to. Just as he has probably organised every aspect of my party in the park, right down to the microdetails.

 

“Biiiirthdaaaay tooooooo youuuuuu!” The song fades out, but I notice Even nodding towards Magnus, quickly raising and lowering his eyebrows in one of those urgent you-need-to-do-it-right-now nods. Magnus gets up and manages to get the others to their feet, motioning them up with his arms. Linn has to be pulled up; she looks only vaguely pleased. I also have to get up from my princess throw. I’m surrounded by friends. Jonas presses a freshly opened can of beer into my hand, Chris takes off the glittery, weird contraption she’s wearing on her head, and Sana brings it over to me. A unicorn, what the fuck? Well, okay. “Hurra for deg som fyller ditt ååååår!” They sing the Norwegian birthday song, complete with the accompanying dance. They’re cute. My friends. It's a warm summer night, and we aren't exactly alone in the park. Still, it feels surprisingly nice to just stand here wearing a shimmery unicorn dick on my head, being sung to and danced for. I catch Even’s eye, wink at him. “Are you okay?” he mouths at me. I am more than fucking okay. This is the best birthday; I have the phattest friends, the hottest boyfriend, I am holding a beer: life is good. I'm smiling so hard, I probably look like a lunatic.

 

 **21:10 ISAK**   
I'm feeling a little worse for wear. My beer buzz is gone, and I’ve kind of collapsed. Even has fed me sausages all day. It's a common myth that food can absorb alcohol, or at least it's a truth with modifications. I allow myself a small break with my phone, leaning back against a tree trunk, accompanied by Elsa. I look up from the screen and see Even in the middle of some discussion with Magnus and Mahdi; they are laughing and gesticulating. I don't even want to know what that is about. I cannot fucking find the movie Even was talking about earlier. I have been typing search words into YouTube all day. Something significant, but not _gule gardiner_ (yellow curtains). I have tried _gardiner_ (curtains), “ _gul”_ (yellow), “grandiosa”, “guarantee” and thousands of other vaguely significant clues. But Even is big on references, and I know that I'm not looking for something random. There will be a greater meaning behind the title he has chosen. “Got yourself a gun?” No. I try “Great Gatsby”, even though I know Even thinks that particular movie is a pompous piece of shit, but just as I press the search button I suddenly know what I'm looking for!

I go all warm and excited and a little shaky. I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner! I quickly tap “Gabrielle” into the search field. I'm already smiling in anticipation of what Even has created for me. No! My rush immediately evaporates, my search yielding only Gabrielle’s own videos. Any other words of significance? Something about God? No, he specifically said that the title didn’t include God. I chuckle a little to myself, thinking about that Halloween party, the night we kissed for the first time. Even was dressed up as God. My lord, he looked like a nerd in that wig and, still, all I wanted was to get closer to him, to get under that ugly white fake beard. I must be drunk now, sitting by myself in a corner at my own party, lost in memories. It's just so lovely and void of worries, the little film playing in my head. I notice myself nodding a little. I'm probably smiling sheepishly as well, but fuck that, it's exactly like something out of one of Even's romantic movies. The bike ride, the pool, that careful kiss under water in an alternative reality where everything was allowed. Neither of us mentioned that kiss when we broke the water. I didn’t know what Even was thinking, but I was scared shitless that he would say something to downplay its importance. All I knew was that we needed to get under water again, both of us. We needed to get back into that alternative world where I could take the chance and just do it. Go with the notion that it would be okay if I kissed Even. And then that little girl came in and we had to get out of there as fast as hell, back to my place in our dripping wet clothes. God standing in the shower, a drenched Julius Caesar making hot cocoa in the kitchen. And then, afterwards, all those intense hours in my bed. At first I didn't know if it was alright to kiss there, above water. I didn't dare to be the first one, just lifted my face towards Even's, finding a wordless way to say, “I'm yours if you want me”. I'm smiling again. It's so weird, seems like so long ago, in some sort of alternative reality. Except this really was reality. Pretty pompous. And then I suddenly hear Even's voice, his voice from that day in bed, sleepy, a little on edge: “I _will_ make a movie about you”.

 

I'm not kidding, my fingers are shaking as I manoeuvre my phone, the adrenaline pumping through me, my entire arm is jittery. When the blue image with the title appears at the top of the list, my anticipation is so high that it’s difficult to breathe. I look around me before pressing play. Luckily everyone else is busy with their beer, chatting, laughing. The first few seconds I don't quite understand what I'm watching. But then Gabrielle starts to sing, and I can hear Even in her words and can see myself through his eyes. I see us, Even and Isak. We are laughing, messing around; I'm sleeping; no, for fuck's sake, has he filmed our hands as I...? And that tissue, I feel my cheeks heating up. The movie ends with a cheesy reference to Even's favourite movie, although I know it isn't cheesy at all. That reference sums up something important in the dynamic between Even and me.

 

Afterwards I just sit there, smiling, I don't care if I look a bit psycho. Fuck me, what a movie!, And it's sitting right there for everyone to see. It even has a comment already, from someone who has watched it before me. Okay, that's a little cringeworthy, it's from Elias and the other guys from Even's old school! I tap the phone on my chest a few times, letting it all sink in, the movie, the comment. Even is still chatting and laughing with Magnus. Vilde is sitting next to them now. Even gets his phone out right after I send the message. He must have had it on vibrate. He smiles and looks up with sparkling eyes as soon as he has read it. Damn, he looks so fantastic! I find myself smiling back, cherishing the feeling of pride over being Even's boyfriend. I want him to come over to me. I want to sit close to him and watch the movie together with him. My own phone vibrates, he replies:

 

[You know it's 21:21]

 

There is something magical about it. Our first night, this night. My mom's message, my very first night on earth. I swiftly text him back:

 

[You know I was born at 21:21]

 

Even might think that I'm kidding. I look him in the eyes as I press send:

 

[I swear]

 

The reply is classic Even. I look over at him and laugh, but to be honest I fancy doing something completely different than laughing right now. Jesus Christ, he has a boner. What the hell does he think I have? I want to go home. I want to go home with Even, and I want to kiss and fool around and fuck and make love all night.

Even gets to his feet. I can hear him saying something about needing to get me home. Apparently I’ve had enough beer, I'm falling asleep, yes, it's a shame that we have to leave this soon. He makes his way over to me, arm outstretched, ready to pull me up. I'm not sure if I will regret it in the morning, but fuck it, it's time that the kid gets those answers he’s so clearly gagging for. I open Messenger again, find CatHooker, paste in the link to my movie, and press send.

 

 **22:05 EVEN**   
We are walking home slowly from the tram stop, Isak's hand in mine, our fingers intertwined. It's still light outside. The summer evening is mild, and we’re walking with our coats unbuttoned. Isak is probably still pretty heated up from the inside; he had plenty of birthday beers, most of them served by me. Maybe I was a little too much today, but Isak is only going to turn 18 once, and I really just wanted him to remember it as a perfect day.

“You needed a lot of time to find that movie, Isak. I was worried for a while that it would become one of those YouTube shooting stars all on its own, without you ever finding it.”  
“What?! Wouldn't you have shown it to me eventually?” Isak fakes indignation, bumps me with his shoulder.  
“No, this was a test to see if we’re on the same wavelength. If we have the same values, like.” I bump him back, we jostle a little, laugh. To be honest I’m relieved that Isak finally found the movie. It wasn't exactly a test, but it means something to me that Isak remembers that first day we spent together, that he caught the reference. That day in Isak's room was a first step out of something destructive for me. And a step into something amazing, although I didn't know it at the time.

 

“But Even? Ehm. You have considered the fact that everyone we know has basically seen us banging now?” Isak looks at me, suppressing a smile before exploding into laughter. His cheeks are pink.   
“You’re the only one who's found it, Isak. I can take it down later. This is your movie. YouTube was just a prop for the treasure hunt. And anyway, we're not exactly banging there. Or did I upload the wrong movie?” I'm teasing Isak; we both know that we have couple of movies that shouldn’t be uploaded to YouTube anytime soon. Isak continues:  
“Okay, so maybe we're not banging, but I'm going down on you on there!”  
“Seriously, Isak, are you blushing? You've done that a hundred times!” I laugh at Isak's red, hot cheeks. He's cute and handsome simultaneously, and I actually think he's embarrassed.

 

I’ll remove the movie as soon as we get home. It's a little too much if anyone else watches it. After all, it's my private way of showing Isak how much he means to me. I've worked on it for weeks, every time I've had our apartment to myself. Looked through all the little clips I've filmed of Isak, of Isak and me, tried to pick out the right ones, tried to find the perfect frames. The ones showing Isak, my Isak. The difference between my Isak and the Isak he presents to his friends never ceases to fascinate me. The tender, caring, reflected and wise Isak who is my man, my boyfriend. And the slightly grumpy and sarcastic teenage boy he turns into as soon as he is enveloped by the dynamic of the boy squad. Those boys will never understand how precious Isak is to me, to us, what Isak saves every single day. Being together with me is no walk in the park, and I know it all too well. I know it's egoistical of me to even try, I shouldn't be bothering anyone, shouldn’t be anyone’s boyfriend. That's how simple it is really, and then it gets all complicated because Isak doesn't agree. There's no point in overthinking it; I've experienced that the painful way. I just need to accept that it doesn't matter if I don't get it: Isak is there, he wants to be there, and he will stay there. It's more than my mind can process and that's why I need to let it lie. Just accept that it’s true. Isak is there.

 

I let Isak's hand go and drape my arm over his shoulders. He slips his arm around my waist and we walk on, pressed tightly together.  
“I sent the movie to Magnus,” Isak chuckles, looks at me. What? No! To Magnus! Okay, we will hear about this for the rest of our lives. The movie might answer some of Magnus's many questions about how we like to have sex, but it will probably create at least as many new ones. We stop, look at each other. I lift my eyebrows, exhale noisily, and then we both burst out laughing. Isak has tears in his eyes. The laughing won't stop, but eventually we continue on hand-in-hand, still letting out occasional spurts of laughter.

 

I root around in my trouser pocket, looking for the key. We’re standing outside the main door to our building. Isak squeezes past me, standing between me and the door. He leans against it, pulls me toward him, tilts his head encouragingly in my direction, inviting me to kiss him. I cup his face with my hands, my fingers in the curls at the back of his head. We kiss, tiny, soft kisses at first. I can feel his hands on the back of my neck, in my hair, they slide over my back, cup my butt, pulling me towards him. Our kisses are not soft anymore, but firm, deep, hot. A voice sings inside me, it's Gabrielle's, it's mine, the beat is that of our hearts, and I'm pretty sure they’re beating in time right now  
_“You are that key around my G making a baby lose all control.”_

 

“Should we go inside?” I interrupt our kissing. We are breathing rapidly, my hands are still in Isak's curls.   
“Yes,” Isak answers, inhaling sharply. His eyes are black, and he looks at me in that way that I never want to stop, that way that makes me want to lie close to him and kiss him until the world comes to an end.  
“We're going inside. You’re going to sing me all night long, Even.”  
He is short of breath, his words are a little staccato, and he crushes himself to me. I smile, both at the words and at the hardness he’s pressing against me. We are absolutely on the same wavelength.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song line in italics is a translation of a line from Gabrielle's song Nattergal, which is used in the movie Even has made for Isak.


	2. My little dramaqueen

**My little drama queen  
05:24 EVEN **

 

Isak's face is pale, his skin is covered in clammy, sticky sweat. He’s sitting on the bathroom floor, neck hanging down, holding his head in his hands. I squeeze his shoulder as I get up from the floor and flush away the vomit in the toilet bowl. I pick up the towel from the rack next to the sink, moisten it with tepid water and squat in front of Isak again. He has tears in his eyes from all the retching.

 

“Isak, look at me.” I support his head with my left hand, place my palm against his cheek. Holding the moist towel in my right hand, I softly wipe his face and around his mouth. He whines quietly, with a little complaining wail that usually makes me laugh. It's not funny tonight.

 

“Come on. I think you should get back into bed.” I try to grab hold under his arm, would like to help him to his feet.  
“Noooo. I just want to sit here.” Isak pushes my arm away.   
“You at least need to put on some clothes.” Isak looks pitiful, small, very young. I understand that I'm exaggerating, but I worry that he will catch a cold if he continues sitting there, naked on the floor. I want to carry him over to the bed, wrap him in the duvet and rub the warmth back into him, but I doubt that I’m strong enough to lift him. 

 

“Isak, are you cold?” He looks up at me, his eyes are blank, empty. I sit down in front of him, pull him into my arms, rest him against me. He smells like an afterparty: last night's beer, sausage and sick. He places his head in the crook of my neck, lets me rock him softly while I slowly rub my palms up and down the length of his arm and the side of his back. I lower my face towards his hair, sniff the scent of Isak and his birthday party. “Are you okay? Isak?” He shakes his head, presses his face into my chest. I can feel his lips against my skin. I hear him mumbling something, but cannot catch what he's saying. I swipe his fringe away from his forehead, feeling the sweaty skin against my fingers. “What did you say? Baby?” Isak angles his face toward me, looks at me. I see something new in his eyes now, it's definitely despair, but a different kind of despair than I've seen before. It moves me, pierces something deep in my heart. Suddenly that other, well-known despair is put into perspective. He's not distressed on my behalf now, but on his.

 

I'm not sure where I summon it, my strength surprises me and Isak alike. I wrap my arms around him and lift him off the bathroom floor. I carry him in my arms while I unsteadily wobble the few metres to our bed. I'm not able to put him down as carefully as I’d like. My knees give in when I reach the side of the bed and we topple onto the bed together. My arms are still locked around Isak, and I land partly on top of him. We roll apart on the mattress. I wrap the covers around us. The duvet covers Isak's body entirely, only his head is visible next to me. He looks at me now, his upper lip curls weakly into a small smile. I kiss his forehead, stroke his hair. My little drama queen.

 

 

**13:01 ISAK**   


There’s clattering coming from the kitchen, the loud rattle of cups against plates. My head. My mouth feels dry, tastes like crap. I burrow my face into the pillow, pull the covers more snugly around me. Did I puke? I stink. My skin smells sour, the odour grows, radiates from the sheets, the duvet, the pillow. I puff out my cheeks, slowly exhaling through my lips. Congratulations on your first day as an 18-year-old, Isak. Brilliant start. 

 

“Hi! Are you awake?” Even sits down at the side of the bed. He's holding a coffee mug, our housewarming gift from Eskild. The mug has rainbow stripes and says, “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Even's hand is wrapped around the cup and all I can see are the words “come, come”. The world is mocking me. I puff out my cheeks again and slowly exhale. Even laughs. He's looking fresh as fuck, his hair is still damp from the shower. He places the coffee mug on the floor, leans in towards me. I'm about to tell him that I stink. I would appreciate such a warning myself, but my reactions are as slow as a fly in molasses and he's already too close. He kisses me, first a tiny kiss, his lips barely part mine, but I know it's enough to smell the sour, rank smell and taste the taste of the dead rodent that is my tongue. He pulls back a little, rubs his nose against mine, but then he kisses me again. This time I feel his tongue against my tongue, it tickles me softly. I let out a small sound, like a little moan, but I know Even calls this my cuddly sound.

 

“You're okay?” He lifts his eyebrows, smiles. A sarcastic asshole right now, but so handsome. Did he not drink anything last night?  
“Yes, I'm fine.» I sound like a put-out teenager, I know, but Even just shakes his head and makes that annoying breathy sound that makes me want to jostle him. I let myself sink back into the pillow instead.

“Your phone has gone off a lot while you were sleeping.” Even nods toward my trousers, piled on the floor together with my hoodie, my t-shirt and my boxers. Left exactly where I stepped out of them when Even pulled them down after we entered the flat last night. My phone is in my trouser pocket. I didn't exactly spare much thought on puttingit away last night.

 

“Would you mind getting it for me?” I stroke Even's arm, letting my fingers slide down before gripping his wrist loosely. My two last fingers slide into his palm, tickling him.  
Even is already standing up; he would probably have fetched the phone without me asking. He answers me while crossing the floor and picks up my jeans, sticks his hand into the pocket and fishes out the phone. “Of course. If you promise to get a shower and brush your teeth.” He cocks his head, giving me a knowing look, but thankfully also a teasing one.   
“So, join me in the shower, then?” I wink at Even, but it’s really just a very half-hearted attempt at persuading him to come along. Soaping myself up is probably the most I can manage right now: my head is throbbing and pungent BO is never a particularly good pick-up trick. Even usually jumps at most suggestions of things involving him and me and no clothes, but he probably gets how half-assed that wink was. He throws the phone to me and points at his still-damp hair.   
“Sorry, baby, had a shower just now. While you were sleeping the sleep of a teenager.”  
“Your loss, man.” I smile, but am eyeing my phone. Four messages from Magnus. One from my mom. I read the messages from Magnus first, jerk my head back and straighten my back in surprise.   
  


[Wow! Hehe, cool man! Love that movie! Issy, Even is the chick! Why didn't you just say so?]

[But seriously Isak, how can you fuck if Even isn't on his stomach?]

[That's not a stupid question though! I seriously wonder about that.]

[Isak, I've watched it 8 times now. Damn. Even loves you man.]  
  


I can't take my eyes off the screen. Why why why did I send that video to Magnus? In which dimension did that seem like a good idea? I can feel that Even is watching me, as he often does when he knows I'm reading my messages. My mom sometimes goes completely nuts and sends me long messages with bible quotes and confused words of wisdom, and Even knows that those messages terrify me. “Is it your mom?” Even looks at me questioningly; I can see he's concerned.   
“No, Magnus.” I turn the phone around, holding it so Even can read the screen. He scrolls through Magnus's messages and breaks into uncharacteristically crude laughter. I look at him, surprised. “Seriously, Even? You find that funny?”  
“Yes!” Even still sounds amused. “Magnus seriously spends too much time picturing us naked! That's just hilarious, don't you think?” Even sits down at the foot of the bed, lifts the duvet, exposes my feet. He grabs one of them, rubs the sole of my foot, lifts it to his face, nibbles and kisses my toes. “He has no idea that this is the only part of you that doesn't reek of hungover 18-year-old boy now!”  
I pull a face, roll my eyes, haha, yeah right.  
“It's going to be awkward now! He's going to ask about this when we see him. Ignoring him isn't going to help!” I'm raising my voice a little. This seemed like a good idea last night, but now it feels like a minor catastrophe.  
  


“Isak.” Even is still giggling a little, but his voice is serious. “Magnus and Vilde keep telling us exactly how they have sex. Don't get stressed out about it. We'll just answer him. It's okay. Okay?”  
I chuck the phone at Even, shrug my shoulders. “You do it.”  
Even shakes his head, an exasperated shake to show me how unlaidback I am. He's typing a reply. “Do you want to read it before I send it off?” He looks at me. I so do not want to read it before he sends it. I just want avoid explaining what Even and I do in bed. I shake my head and continue shaking it while Even presses send. I can hear the hollow little beep from the phone, and can't help thinking of Magnus, about to receive a more explicit answer than he probably expected. Even is so relaxed about this issue, I expect that he gave him a painfully specific description. It’s worth it as long as it shuts Magnus the hell up.  
  


Less than 10 seconds have passed when my phone beeps. Even raises his eyebrows again, glancing at the phone, then back at me. “Me or you?” I just continue shaking my head – that will be my contribution here. I watch Even intently as he reads the message. He bursts into laughter again, hands me the phone back. “Mags! Seriously.”

  
I read Even's message first:

[Isak is too shy, so I will answer: I assume you’re keen on knowing more about penetration since you always go on about who the chick is. We take turns, depending on where the mood takes us. And since I know you will ask: yes, being the bottom is awesome. You should try it! It's no problem being on your back, it's all in the angle of the hips. And here's a mindfuck for you, you can be the bottom and still be the one on top. Google that. It's really interesting that you need to know so much about this, Mags. And you're right, I love Isak to the moon and back.]   
  


My cheeks are burning again. This is not the best topic to discuss today, what with a headache and hangover anxiety. Magnus's reply doesn’t help.

  
[Heey, Even! Cool! Thanks! Finally some answers! You are both the chick, really? And it's awesome? Something else I wonder about, do you like sucking cock or do you just have to do it to get a bj back? Fine that I ask, right?]

  
I cover my face with my hands, shake my head. Jeez.   
“That message was for you!” I toss my phone back to Even. He catches it with both hands.

 

 


	3. Things are actually fucking awesome

**Things are actually fucking awesome**

**  
09:48 EVEN**

 

I'm due at work in 12 minutes and I'm late. I always am. I'm walking briskly around the flat, collecting my stuff. I already have my keys in my pocket. I need my coat and my phone. Isak is seated at the kitchen table, his laptop open in front of him.

 

“I'm sort of getting Cardamom Town vibes with you stressing around like that.” Isak yawns while speaking, pulling at his hoodie strings, adjusting his hood. “Car-da-mooom!” There’s not much spirit in his performance, mornings aren’t Isak's best time of day. He smiles, seemingly resigned over his sense of humour. He raises his shoulders and lifts the palms of his hands towards the ceiling apologetically.  
“Cardamom Town vibes?” I ask, but of course I understand that the joke is at my expense.  
“Yeah, like Casper and Jasper. Where are my trousers, where is my shirt? You know?”  
“No. I think that must be some show you watched as a child, after I had got too mature for that stuff.” Isak wrinkles his nose, makes a face by way of reply.

 

There’s my coat. Now I could have sung the lame song to show Isak that I of course know what Cardamom Town is, but I just don't have time. Where’s my phone?  
“You're only two years older than me!” Isak gets easily worked up when I mention our age difference, and an indignant Isak is one of the cutest things I know. But I don't have time for that either right now.  
“Okay, mature and wise Isak, do you know where my phone is?” I'm standing in the doorway of the front door, halfway into the hall, holding my coat and backpack. I'm running seriously late. There are always more customers on Mondays and I really should be there at ten sharp. My boss doesn't mind that much that I regularly show up a few minutes late, at least she hasn't said anything so far. She's commented that they seem to have more regulars since I started working there and that I just need to send her a text if I can’t manage to be there on time. I'm not sure what the deal with the regulars is, but I have noticed that I get a whack of tips as long as I'm on and chatty, so I guess those things are interrelated.

 

“Uh. Isn't it by the bed?” Isak blushes a little. It makes me smile. A blushing and embarrassed Isak is also right up there on the list of cute things I love. He's right, my phone is often by the bed. I collect clips of Isak in almost all situations, well of Isak and me, to be specific. It would be a bit of a crisis if that phone got stolen. I should probably move the movies to my Mac more often. 

 

Isak collects my phone while I put on my shoes and coat. He slips it into the back pocket of my jeans while tilting his face up towards mine. I kiss him, a swift, superficial goodbye kiss, lips closed. I just really don't have time now. Isak grabs the lapels of my denim jacket, pulls me towards him; now he is the one kissing me. He kisses me with open lips, his tongue meets mine in a soft kiss. No time. Not really. Before I manage to press myself against him and answer his kiss, Isak has taken a few steps back and rotated my body towards the door. I feel a light smack on my bum as Isak says, “Goodbye then, baby. I'll see you later.” 

 

Oh fuck. Should have been there two minutes ago. 

 

 

**12:31 ISAK**   


 

Sana is already seated at a table when I arrive. It's hot today, the sun is baking and Sana probably got the last available table. She sits motionless, lifting only her gaze as I step into the backyard. The heat doesn't seem to bother her, even though she's wearing more clothes than most of the others sitting here. But then Sana has the astonishing ability to seem absolutely unaffected by external circumstances. “Hi!” I lift my hand in a sloppy greeting while walking toward her. She smiles, breaking her entire badass expression for a second. I sit down at the table, dropping my backpack next to the chair. 

 

“Working out?” Sana asks, nodding toward the backpack with a tiny sarcastic smile fluttering at the edges of her mouth. She knows that I haven't given working out much priority lately and we’ve definitely not discussed that this partially excusable due to the fact that other activities I’m engaged in could be described as physically demanding. She would probably survive a discussion on the topic; I, on the other hand, certainly would not.

“Playing football with the guys later.” Sana nods. She still looks sarcastic, as if she doesn't quite buy my story. I stare back, giving her a quick sideways nod, “What?”   
She just keeps smiling that same unnerving smile, and nods, “True that. You do play football.”

 

Before I can ask her why she needs to be so sceptical about absolutely everything, I feel a hand on my shoulder. “Hi, Sana! Isak!” Even squeezes my shoulder. He doesn't stoopdown to give me a kiss, which is normally the way we greet each other. He lets go of my shoulder, steps forward and stands between Sana and me. I can't stop myself from admiring him. Tall, slender, a little lanky, dazzling smile, hair combed back into a high quiff. Black jeans, white shirt, his apron is long and navy blue, enhancing his narrow hips. Mine mine mine mine.

 

“Excuse me, dude, drooling over the waiter will cost you extra.” Even nudges my foot with his trainer-clad foot.   
“Hard not to, though. For him.” Sana answers for me, looking at Even with her distant Sana look: there's no smile, but there is kind of a smirk under her lipstick. She should patent that expression, it's madly effective.

 

Even just laughs, winks at me as he answers Sana. “Oh, hello. This is just beautiful, you teaming up with Isak!”   
“Of course. We are buds, right.” It's not a question, Sana doesn't ask. She ascertains. I notice that I like it. Sana is a good bud to have. We may be a strange pair: a gay guy and a Muslim, but fuck that. I'm sure Sana would catch me if I fell off a cliff, to put it that way.

What would you like?” Even holds a small notepad and a pencil in his hand, nods at us, ready to take our order. 

“Chai for me. Without. Cardamom.” Sana raises her eyebrow to emphasise just how disgusting she found Even's cardamom-spiked chai.   
“Noted. No cardamom. Sorry for that initiative.” Even smiles apologetically, teasingly.   
“Initiative is overrated.” This is Sana's way of accepting an apology, I think. She's not that big on friendliness skills, particularly not on accepting friendliness from others.   
“What about you, Isak? Waiter's recommendation?” I nod. I'd take this waiter's recommendation any day. 

Even disappears into the café with his apron and his little notepad. My gaze follows him across the backyard, up the few steps and in through the open door. Good jeans, nice bum. Mine. 

 

“How long does one actually stay in love?” Sana's question disturbs my equilibrium a bit, it's so unexpectedly personal. I turn towards her, look at her questioningly.   
“Are you asking for a friend?” Oddly enough she smiles by way of reply, and it's not the smile she should patent. It's unusual, a genuinely broad and open smile that reaches her eyes and softens her face. She controls it pretty quickly, anything else would really have surprised me.   
“Hahaha.” The patentable smile is back. Her question is good, but I don't know the answer. Longer than half a year, hopefully not shorter than 80 years at least. 

 

“Is it important?” I adjust my cap while looking at Sana, lifting it swiftly off my head, smoothing my hair back with my fingers and replacing the snapback, all in one fluid motion. “We don't know anything about the future in any case. It’s pointless to wonder how long we will stay in love, as long as we are in love right now.” Sana seems confused. It’s an unusual look on her. It seems pretty obvious that what works for me might not work as well for her.

 

I have noticed it before. It's difficult for others to understand the way Even and I think. Have to think. It started off as a lifebuoy, necessary for us to get through each day when Even was depressed. Any thoughts about the future, and whether it would be good or bad, just got too heavy, perhaps especially for Even, but also definitely for me. Rather than making choices based on a set of variables that were impossible to predict, it felt manageable to quit thinking so far ahead. Just focus on the present moment, on today. That has become a safety device for us now, a small inflatable life jacket, hardly visible to anyone else, but fitting firmly on our shoulders. When Even is well, the perspective is wider, of course. Like now. Now we can think about going away on holiday, about Even's studies next term; we can plan and speak about the future. But we both know that if it becomes necessary, it is only the present moment that’s important.   
“It does make sense. I can see where you're going with that.” Sana still looks a little puzzled, quizzical. “Are things going well with Even now?”

 

“Things are fucking awesome!” Even is suddenly standing next to our table, neither of us spotted him coming. He winks at Sana and places a large cup of steaming tea in front of her. The steam smells of spices and cinnamon. I get a wide coffee cup with a thick layer of milk foam on the top. The coffee and the milk have combined to create a pattern, tiny dark pinpricks of spices are drizzled around it. “Did you make that?!” I look up at Even, surprised. He smiles composedly, but he’s a little proud as well, nods. Then he softly strokes my cheek with the tips of his fingers before returning to the coffee bar. My coffee has a large heart in the foam, and a mild scent of cardamom that hits me when I lower my face to it. On the saucer, next to the cup, there is a piece of paper torn from Even's notepad. I expect it to be the receipt, so I don't really look at it until Sana stretches out her arm, picks up the note and unfolds it. There is a drawing on the paper. Sana inspects it for a long time, smiles with closed lips, another look she could patent. She hands it over to me, doesn't comment. 

 

It's a drawing of Sana and me. We are sitting at a café table. I’m wearing a snapback, Sana is in a hijab. We are drinking from large cups, my coffee has a heart on top. Two vertical lines mark the division to a parallel universe. We are still sitting at the table there, but Even has joined us. Sana's tea has a drizzle of spices, “cardamom” is spelled out next to her cup. Even and I are sharing the coffee with the heart on it. 

“Things are actually fucking awesome.” I beam at Sana, nip at my coffee. Today, things are fucking awesome.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what's the deal with Cardamom Town, you ask? This is where the trouble with local Norwegian references come in and make translation a pain. When the Robbers came to Cardamom Town is a classic Norwegian children's book, and I think it's pretty safe to say that almost every Norwegian child and adult has heard of it. Three robbers called Casper, Jasper and Jonathan are central characters, a bumbling bunch of guys who are so untidy that they never can find their stuff when they need it. There's even a song about it, one that every Norwegian probably knows. So, if you ever meet a real-life Norwegian, ask them to sing it to you. I bet you they will. So, enough about cardamom.
> 
> My story has a lot of references that are easy to catch for a Norwegian reader, but probably impossible to understand for a non-Scandi audience. So I will try to put any necessary background in the notes. Otherwise, just ask :)


	4. Doesn't your mother have a cabin in Bergen or something?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very happy to be able to tell you that my fic is no longer being translated by me! Very kind and wonderful QueenSylvana offered to translate my text, and obviously I said yes please right away! This is a great situation for you, my readers, as QueenSylvana is a native English speaker and her English interpretation of my words is beautiful (and so much better than my own attempts at translation). It is also a rather amazing situation for me, as I now can spend my free time writing new chapters for the fic, while, at the same time, the story still gets translated. Thank you so much, V!

**Doesn't your mother have a cabin in Bergen or something?**

 

**14:21 EVEN**

  
  


“So, are we going away? Have you looked into tickets?” Magnus’s mouth is full, and it’s hard to understand what he’s saying. He looks expectantly at us, first at Isak. Isak just stares back at him blankly. When he doesn’t get a response, Magnus moves his gaze to me. I don’t know how to answer, mumble a few words, pretend to concentrate on unwrapping my burger from its greasy, sticky wrapper. I look at my food, avoiding eye contact. I don’t know if we’re going away. I’m not sure such a holiday would be a wise idea either.

  
  


It seemed like a good idea when we were sitting in Sana’s backyard, what with the festivities and the holiday feeling on our plates. A trip to Morocco, a true holiday. I was so happy when Isak said he wanted to go on holiday with me, that he wanted to do stuff with me this summer. But now the thought of a holiday in a foreign country fills me with mild panic. I’m unsure whether it’s wise to go on holiday with me. I don’t know whether I can trust myself, or worse, whether Isak can trust that I won’t fall in love with my own bright ideas. Will I end up doing something that crosses the line of what the others consider acceptable? Will I ruin their trip because I don’t always have a well-functioning filter?

  
  


A holiday with just Isak and myself, I know I could manage that. There’s something in the way Isak deals with me that I’ve never experienced before. He listens to me, lets me follow my whims a ways, doesn’t require me to be well-adjusted, moderate, toned-down at all times. He doesn’t get angry or stressed out when I’m the bit-too-enthusiastic version of myself for a while. Or when I’m feeling small and dejected. I think he sees me, just Even, not “Even and his diagnosis”. I can’t always distinguish between what are ordinary, acceptable thoughts and what are thoughts that others would consider over-the-top, exaggerated or wild notions. This doesn’t seem to bother Isak. He doesn’t care what’s what. “It’s all you, Even.” I can hear him saying the words. But a week abroad with all the guys, I’m not sure. If Sonja were here, she would have said, “This is not good for you, Even. Remember you’re sick.” She had said it often enough that that kind of reasoning had become second nature. Known and hated.

  
  


“Stop apologising for things you can’t change.” Those, in contrast, are Isak’s words. I know he means it. I wish I could trust that it’s the truth, that I don’t have anything to apologise for. The fact is that I inflict pain and anxiety on Isak when I can’t control what’s inside of me, and I feel a pressing need to apologise, say sorry, try to explain.

  
  


“Yeah, but what _is_ happening with that trip?” Now Jonas is nagging us, and the guys are right. We have to figure it out. I’m not the right person to plan a holiday, and I understand now that I probably hadn’t thought things through before suggesting a guys’ holiday in Marrakesh. Particularly without asking Isak first. We haven’t talked about it since then either. He seemed tepid to the idea of a guys’ holiday, and even more tepid to a guys’ holiday in Morocco. I don’t quite know why, and I don’t dare ask. He’s probably thinking the same thing as me: What if I don’t manage to keep my shit together for the duration of the trip?

  
  


Isak looks up from his cheeseburger, shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve looked into tickets, but sorry dudes, it’s way too expensive. Tickets cost like 12k, and that doesn’t include food or hotels or drinks or anything else.”   
“Whaat?? 12k!” Magnus stares at Isak in shock, his mouth half open and still full of food. That kid needs some gentleman skills asap. “But, wait, wait, guys! Can’t we go on a charter holiday instead? Mamma usually travels with her sister. I guarantee it won’t cost 12k!” Magnus is geared up. He’s clearly pretty keen on a guys’ holiday. I try to catch Isak’s eye, but he averts his gaze, doesn’t look at me.

  
  


“I actually don’t have any money to go on holiday. Sorry dudes. Should have told you sooner.” Madhi looks a little embarrassed, lifts his palms to face us. Maybe it’s time for me to say something, something that can make Isak understand that I’m not expecting us to go on a guys’ holiday in Morocco, that he’s off the hook. To be honest, I’m relieved. I think it’s a better idea to stay home. I can just spin on what Isak said about the money.

  
  


“Honestly, I don’t think any of us have that much money to use on a holiday. I had no idea that the flights were so expensive!” I add a grin and raise my eyebrows, trying to act light-hearted and easy-going. “We’ll just find stuff to do here instead! BBQ in the park?” Do I sound too enthusiastic now? Am I over the top again? I’m uncertain, try to catch Isak’s eye again, need confirmation that what I said was alright. Isak is still very preoccupied with his food and won’t look at me. I place my hand on his knee under the table. Give his leg a light squeeze. I need to see his eyes, his smile, anything. I just need a little sliver of Isak right now.

  
  


“Hey, let’s take a trip to a cabin together! Isak, doesn’t your mother have a cabin in Bergen or something?” Jonas sounds enthusiastic, he breaks through and gets Isak to look at him. Isak seems surprised, a shudder runs through his body as his gaze drifts over the rest of the guys.   
“Uh. Yeah. Well, my grandmother does. But I don’t know if we can borrow it, though.” I try to read his body language and facial expression, but I can’t decide whether he’s keen on going or whether he’s going to shoot the whole project down. I didn’t know about any cabin in Bergen. I feel a fleeting pain that Jonas still knows more about Isak than I do. Luckily the feeling doesn’t last more than a second. That’s as long as it takes for me to come to my senses and realise that I know much, much more about other things when it comes to Isak.

  
  


“Can’t you ring your mother and ask? That would be awesome!” Magnus is just as excited by the thought of a holiday at a cabin as a holiday in Morocco. I notice Jonas glancing quickly from Magnus to Isak. It’s clear that he, too, knows that Isak cannot and will not ring his mother, cabin or no cabin.

  
  


Isak’s hand finds mine under the table. He intertwines his fingers with mine, and we squeeze each other’s hand.   
“Yeah. I can try to ring Granny?” Isak wrinkles his nose, drawing his lip up a little. He turns to me. “What do you think? Trip to a cabin in Bergen?”

  
  


His gaze, his smile, the wrinkled nose. That’s all I need to put my uncertainty and unease to rest. I nod in affirmation. A trip to a cabin in Bergen sounds absolutely doable. I can manage that.

  
  


 

**19:58 ISAK**

 

“Isn’t it a little weird to have a cabin in Bergen?” Even is reclining on the bed, browsing Netflix for something to watch. “I mean like it’s the second-largest city in Norway. They probably have normal houses and stuff there, right?” He looks at me questioningly.

  
  


What the fuck do I know. Am I an expert on Bergen? I shrug my shoulders, can’t actually be bothered to reply. “Sure. I don’t know.”

  
  


I’ve only been to the cabin once, when I was around five years old. It was before I learned that Mamma was sick, before I understood that it wasn’t normal for grown-ups to want to be left in peace so often. That it wasn’t normal to yell at your child, or to go away to be by yourself for weeks at a time. Most of the time she was okay, Mamma. At any rate before I became old enough to understand what was going on.

  
  


“It’ll be cool with a trip to the cabin, then? Chill with the guys?” Even is so enthusiastic. I don’t understand why. This trip is just a consolation prize because it was so bloody expensive to travel to Morocco. How can the thought of spending a week at a rustic cabin in Bergen make him so happy? I should pull myself together a bit, but I’m pissed off and I can’t hold it in.

 

“Will we all fit in Mamma’s car? Road trip – that would be awesome! How long does it take to drive there?” Even concentrates on the iPad, searching for a route planner.

  
  


“It depends, you know. On whether you’ve thought about inviting even more people on our holiday? Like Vilde or Sana, or maybe you want Elias and Mikael to come? Then it will be a pretty tight squeeze in the Golf. Just saying.” I sound sarcastic and that’s just fine because it pretty well reflects how I feel. I don’t want to go on a guys’ holiday, I want to go on a lovers’ holiday. And I’m irritated that Even doesn’t get it. I know he’s impulsive and can suggest things and put things into motion without thinking them through beforehand. Most of the time it’s fine because I know he’s like that and that’s how I love him. But today it’s not fine.

  
  


“Is something wrong? Invite Mikael?” Even looks confused. He’s sitting in the middle of the bed with his iPad, I see a map on the screen. He looks a little puny, confusion makes him smaller. His smile is gone, and I regret having not found another way to say it. It was actually nice seeing Even so enthusiastic. Well done of me to stifle that enthusiasm so effectively.

  
  


I just want to forget the whole thing, move on. It’ll be a guys’ holiday, fine. But I can’t rid myself of my irritation.   
“Nope. Everything’s fine.” I can hear how surly I sound. I don’t look at Even. I understand that I’m hurting him now and confusing him. I’m doing it on purpose and don’t even understand why.

  
  


“Isak, what’s happening now?” I can feel Even’s gaze on me, but I still won’t look at him.   
“Would you rather go alone with the guys? That’s okay. Uh, I forgot to tell you, that I think they may need some extra shifts covered at work. It’s probably better that I take them perhaps?”

  
  


I understand what Even’s doing now, hate that I’ve made him do it. But I feel the crossness and surliness making their way up my throat, and out they come through my mouth before I have a chance to reflect. How the fuck does Even get this to be all about him? How can he believe that I’d like to travel somewhere without him? Is he not fucking present here and does he not get that I don’t want to do anything else than be together with him?

  
  


“It’s fucking unbelievable that you don’t understand fuck all about what’s happening now, Even!” I’m speaking far too loudly, almost shouting. “I don’t want to go on any bloody trip to any bloody cabin if you’re not going too! I want to go somewhere and be with you and only you! I don’t understand why you asked the others! What was the point?”

  
  


I’m hot from all the shouting and the suddenness and fierceness of my feelings. Defiant, dumb, childish tears pool in my eyes. All I want is to kick something, hit something. Even has got up from the bed, and is standing in front of me. I don’t want to look at him, the whole thing just feels so dumb. So dumb and so overwhelming. Of the two of us, I’m not usually the one who has the emotional outbursts; it unfamiliar and humiliating to stand here, all worked up about a trifle.

  
  


“Look at me, Isak. Look at me.” Even places his hands around my face, he tries to turn my gaze up to meet his. “Look at me. Isak.” It works. My downturned eyes follow Even’s upward nod, he gets me to lift my chin and then I look straight into his eyes. They’re calm, steady. He understands.

 

“Isak, why didn’t you just tell me?” Even pulls me to him, wraps his long arms around me in a tight hug.   
“I told you now, didn’t I?” My voice is low, doesn’t have the self-confidence to carry the words I’m uttering.  
  
  


Even rubs his nose against mine, pulls back a bit, shakes his head gently. “I only asked them because I thought it would be something you’d like to do. I mean we’re together all the time!”   
I bury my face in the side of Even’s neck, inhaling his scent, feeling the soft, warm skin against my nose and forehead. All the crossness and surliness is gone, dissipated into thin air through shouting and stupid accusations. Now I feel little and dumb and would appreciate a sign that it’s also okay.

  
  


Even extricates himself from our hug, places his hands on my shoulders, looks at me. There’s mirth in his eyes now, and he’s suppressing a smile. “I love that you’re so dramatic, Isak!” He leans forward and kisses me.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Norwegian version of this story has a life of its own, with dedicated readers that return for each new chapter and bless me with insightful and wonderful comments. I'm very excited to be able to put the story out in English, but I'm also quite nervous. Please let me know if you are here and if you enjoy it!


	5. Non-negotiable

** **WEDNESDAY, 28 JUNE** **

 

 

**17:12 EVEN**

“Alright! I’ll ring Granny again! Jesus Christ, Even, have you developed OCD now, or what?”   
Isak is speaking loudly, using the queen bitch voice that he always uses when he wants to really underline a point. His point now is that I should chill a good deal more than I’m doing. He picks up his phone from the table with a rapid movement, continues on into the kitchen with an impatient, slightly irritated gait.

  
  


Isak is the only one who would dare joke about psychiatric diagnoses and me. I grin; it was funny. Maybe it’s also true. God knows I’ve been naggy and rather obsessive today. But I don’t like packing and it stresses me out that Isak forgets to ask his grandmother about totally normal things like bedlinens, duvets, towels, toilet tissue. And we need to know whether the cabin has a shower, no?

I’m laidback. I’m impulsive. But I need my routine. And Isak knows it. That’s why he’s standing in the kitchen talking to his grandmother right now. He’s closed the door, probably to emphasise how irritating he thinks it is to have to ring her a third time. Even so, his voice makes its way to me in the bedroom.

  
  


“ _There’s enough bedlinens there, yeah. Awesome. No, yes, okay, I mean. Toilet tissue? Mmmm. Yeah. Loads, okay. No, we don’t use more than normal.”_

  
  


A strict routine has become my thing. Sonja would faint in surprise if she knew. I wouldn’t exactly say that I’m doing it for Isak, but it is the case. I’m doing it for Isak and myself. For Evak, as Magnus would say. Before I met Isak, I was the only one who suffered when I got sick, at least that’s how I looked at it. It affected Mamma and Pappa, too, of course, and Sonja, but I became a master at ignoring that. I didn’t have anything I was afraid of losing. That’s how I felt. Not even myself.

  
  


“You have to take responsibility for your life. You can avoid having bad periods. You must learn to live with it. You have your whole life in front of you.” Patronising words. You have to, you must. That was all the grown-ups around me managed to say. And Sonja as well, who went into a round-the-clock roleplay as a psychiatric nurse on a closed ward. And the monumental disappointment when it all went to hell anyway, even though I tried to follow the psychologist’s advice, Mamma’s advice, Sonja’s rules. What happened at Bakka wasn’t that awful when I look back at it now. But it crushed that little kernel of hope. The little hope that my life could be okay, normal, good, despite the diagnosis. That hope was the last little bit I had left to lose.

  
  


Isak continues to ask his grandmother questions, out of loyalty to me.   
_“No, but how many bedrooms are there actually? Okay. Hmm. We’re five now. No? No, no, no! I’m the only one who’s bringing a boyfriend or girlfriend.”_

  
  


And now I have Isak. My boyfriend. It’s worth following the advice for Isak’s sake. I want Isak to be happy for the next two hundred years, and that means that I have to take care of myself, take control of my life, tame that bloody diagnosis. And to that end I need my routine. Good circadian rhythm, healthy diet, no smoking weed, all that stuff. Trust Tove’s advice, trust the signs my body’s giving me. Don’t push away the people who can help me. Be honest.

  
  


The list is a part of the routine. It’s non-negotiable. It can only be revised together with Tove. And if we revise it, both Isak and Mamma have to know. I would never keep it a secret anyway. On the contrary, I make sure that Isak has the list on his phone, ask him to check whether it’s still there. My nagging irritates him, but that list is important.

  
  


I sit down on the edge of the bed, quickly skimming through my own phone. I don’t need to open the list to know what it contains, but I want to double-check that nothing was deleted by mistake.

 

“Signs.” The heading is in small black letters on the screen of my phone. It should actually be called “Fucking serious signs that everything is about to go to hell”. The list is a check-list. Five or more ticks are a red flag that it’s time to contact Tove. It contains items such as “Sleeps too little”, “Gets up at night”, “Skips meals”, “Overly social with strangers”, “Unnaturally high sex drive”. I think it’s so embarrassing that Mamma has seen that last item, and I hope she’ll never ask Isak about it. Isak teases me that it even has a place on the list because according to him it describes a fundamental component of my psyche. I don’t bother correcting him because I know he’s read all the articles that Tove has recommended and he knows as much about the diagnosis as I do. I hate that he knows all this, but it’s necessary. When I’m poorly, he’s poorly. And my routine, my list, those three fucking meals a day, the alarm clock in the morning, all that is supposed to help me avoid putting us into a shitty situation. As far as possible. Because I’ll never be cured.

  
  


Sonja had her own list. It was called “Triggers for Even”, and included the following items: “Alcohol”, “Weed”, “Partying”, “New friends”, “Drawing”, “Films” and, pointedly, “Boys”. I know she was trying to help me but all I heard was, “Remember that you’re sick. Remember what you’ve done.” As if I didn’t remember it, all the time, every day.

  
  


At the bottom of the list is a new heading: “In case of emergency”. It has only one item, three names. The triangle I can trust if everything goes wrong again, if the chaos knocks me off my feet, if I lose myself.  
ISAK / MAMMA / TOVE

  
  


It sounds like Isak is trying to wrap up the conversation now.   
_“Yeah, we have to do that. Later this summer, then. Mmm. Granny! Yes. He is. He’s going to drive very carefully! Bye! Thank you.”_

  
  


Isak comes into our room again, rolls his eyes and points firmly at me.  
“You. Owe. Me.” He walks towards me decisively, straddles my lap, pushes us back onto the bed.   
“Huh? Why?” I try to stay serious, but Isak is tickling the side of my neck with his tongue, chewing softly on my skin with his lips and teeth.”   
  
“Because Granny just said that I had to watch out and make sure that none of my mates steals my sexy hunk of a boyfriend while we’re at the cabin. And I had to listen to her say that.” He hisses into my ear, bites my earlobe, licks the outer edge of my ear with the tip of his tongue.  
  
“Huh? No way!” I try to push Isak away, want to see his face, see if he’s joking. Did his granny say that? But Isak holds me down. He has one hand around each of my wrists and he’s pressing me into the mattress.  
  
“She said that you’re so handsome she could easily understand why I want to have a piece of your tight ass.” Isak is sucking on my earlobe, wets his tongue, licks my ear.  
  
“Isak! Did she say that?!”  
  
Isak is kissing me wetly, his tongue is on my throat. He’s sucking on the thin skin there, pulling it into his mouth with his tongue, making a vacuum with his lips. It burns a little. I feel it in my stomach, in my toes.  
  
  


I wrap my legs around Isak, my thighs on his hips, my calves crossed behind his legs. He’s released one of my arms, his hand is in my hair, his fingers rotating rhythmically. He’s sucking on another part of my throat, leaving yet another mark. Isak’s. I’m Isak’s. I flex my muscles, put my body weight into it and flip us around on the bed. Flip us around 180 degrees. Isak is under me, I’m on top. He’s surprised, didn’t see it coming. He lets himself sink into the bed, grinning up at me.

  
  


“Isak! She didn’t say that?” Now I’m the one holding down Isak’s arms. He rubs his nose against mine, softly, carefully. My stomach lurches, the contrast between the hard, rigid grip and the soft, intimate caress. I kiss Isak. Our lips are soft, the kiss is slow and lasting. He meets me with his tongue, caresses my tongue with his, his touches light, ticklish, like snowflakes. Isak stretched out below me, arms on either side of his head, nailed fast by my hands. That soft, tender kiss. Strong and weak, I don’t know which of us is which. I release his arms. Prop myself up my forearms on either side of Isak’s head, my fingers stroking the sides of his face. Isak’s hands make their way under my T-shirt, draw patterns on my back with gentle fingers. I kiss him again, feel up his tongue with my own, they’re not snowflakes anymore, more like a handful of snow being rubbed onto my neck, sending shivers down my spine and awakening my entire body. Mine. He’s mine. The little sound Isak is making now, the quiet exhale, a weak moan, says what I am thinking. Isak is mine. I am his. I love that sound. I press myself against Isak, rotate and grind the soft fabric of my joggers against his black jeans. He flexes the muscles in his thighs and ass, answering me by lifting himself up towards me, increasing the friction through the slow motion of his hips. There’s that little sigh again.

  
  


“So Granny wants a taste of this?” Now I’m the one whispering in Isak’s ear, posing my question while grinding against him. This.

  
  


“Do.Not.Talk.About.Granny.Now.”  
Isak’s hands are tugging at the waist of my joggers, his tongue is hard and demanding against mine. It’s all this that makes that fucking routine so important.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I don’t offend anyone with my description of Even’s illness and how he’s working to find a way to live with it. I don’t have bipolar disorder and this text should be read as a story – fiction, not a representation of reality. If something is terribly wrong, you can let me know. The last thing I want is to trample on anyone’s toes on this sensitive topic. That being said, I care deeply for Even and Isak and only want them to find mechanisms for tackling their life together, both the good days and the bad. <3  
> Also, I’m not the kind who describes hard-on, hands-on smut in graphic detail, so there won’t be much of that in this story. But we can all tolerate a little fluff, can’t we?


	6. I thought Bergen would be more like a city

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally the day has come. There’s going to be a holiday at a cabin. In Bergen.

**THURSDAY, 29 JUNE**

** 08:31 ISAK **

  
  


“Don’t ring them yet, Even. It’s only a minute past!” Even is standing on the pavement and fiddling with his phone, turning it back and forth in his hand, pushing the button to check the time on the display. I just know he wants to ring Jonas or Mahdi to ask where they are, why they’re late. Even though one minute does not qualify as late. The car is parked nearby, the boot is open, our bag is already in it. Even has packed for us both in the same holdall. We are now officially an old married couple.

  
  


He continues to shift between checking his phone and looking down the street in the direction where the guys will most likely be coming from. He’s not looking at me. I’m sure he knows that I’m watching him and smirking a little. I have, after all, just won our bet, and by a bloody good margin. I had bet that he would manage to hold out until 08:35, but then again I also thought that he would be doing some stressed-out, last-minute packing until around 08:34. So all in all, I think I’m the one who’s the master of calculation here.

  
  


Even’s telephone vibrates, and he hits the text before the sound has stopped.   
“It’s Jonas. They’re going to be a bit late! Magnus’s father is driving them.”  
He finally looks up at me, shaking his head gently. “I don’t understand why I get so fucking stressed out by this. Isak? Help.” He lets his arms fall heavily to his side, still holding the phone in his hand. He looks a little lost.

  
  


“Come here, you.” I reach out one of my arms, motioning to him to come to me with my fingers, grabbing his hand as soon as he’s close enough. His jacket is open, it’s the light grey hoodie we both wear. Most of our clothes have become shared clothes in the past six months, it’s mainly only trousers that we keep separate now. Even’s legs are just far too long, so there’s no use sharing. I sneak my hands under Even’s jacket, our jacket, and wrap my arms around his waist. He places his arms on my shoulders, sticks his hands under the collar of my T-shirt, warming them against the skin of my neck. There are a few centimetres between us, I tilt my face upwards a bit, look at Even. He smiles, bends down towards me, gives me a small kiss.  
“Looking forward to going on holiday with you.” I go the half step towards Even, pull him close to me as I say it. I’m truly looking forward to it. And I’m also actually glad the guys are coming along. I’m done with all that bratty sulking. 

 

“Sorry I get so stressed out.” Even is speaking against my cheek, I can feel the movement of his lips against my skin.  
“You’re Even. It’s chill.” Am I teasing him, am I serious? It’s a bit of both, and we both know it. Even rubs his lips lightly against my jaw, my throat, small, snowflake-light kisses. I breathe in the warm and safe scent of Even. He’s Even. It’s chill.

  
  


“Evaaak! Lads on holiday!” Magnus’s voice breaks our fragile little moment. We loosen our hug, move a few steps away from each other. Magnus’s father is standing behind the car, placing the bags into the boot together with Jonas. Mahdi has already slid into the driver’s seat of the green Golf, fumbling around on the floor for levers and trying to figure out how to adjust the seat. We’ve borrowed Even’s mother’s car. For free, but with admonitions. Among other things, the Viking roadside assistance card has to stay in the glovebox “in case the car breaks down on the mountain and has to be towed. The card follows the car, not the driver. So there’s no reason for only one of you to drive the entire way.” She gave Even a strict look when she said this. Anyway, only Even and Mahdi have their driver’s licence. I myself am shit scared of everything that has to do with cars and traffic and have plans to stay put in the backseat.

  
  


Magnus gives us both a hug, Even first, as always, and then me. “This is going to be so awesome! Look, I’ve bought iced coffee for everyone, we’re ready to go now! Lads on holiday!” He stretches his arms out at a 90-degree angle from his body and swoops towards the car like an eagle searching for prey. Even takes my hand, strokes my palm with his fingers, and looks at me with his Even smile. That blinding smile that makes my knees go weak, my heart pound, makes me smile back like a wired four-year-old.  
“I’m looking forward to it, too, Isak!” He walks towards the car, I’m half a step behind him. 

  
  


 

16:11 EVEN 

I’m restless, tired of being belted into a car. There’s barely any fucking legroom in the backseat. I’m sitting with my knees together and my calves angled sideways against my seat. My legs are tingling and spasming, I’m shaking them to a continuous rhythm. If Isak were awake, I’d have asked Mahdi to stop. I’ve got a tremendous need to stretch, walk around a bit. I’m far too tall to sit in the backseat, but it’s the only way I can sit next to Isak. Isak who is sleeping. He’s leaning against me, resting his head on my shoulder. His mouth has fallen open slightly, so when I look down at him from an angle he reminds me of a tiny, sleeping piglet. An extraordinarily adorable piglet.

  
  


“You can wake him up now, can’t you? You’ve barely enough room as it is.” Jonas points at Isak, looks at me questioningly. “I can poke him for you, so you don’t get blamed for waking him up.”  
“No, don’t do that. It’s okay.” I stroke Isak’s hair upwards a bit, away from his forehead. Wake Isak up? Only because I’m uncomfortable? I love the warm weight of Isak’s sleeping body, I love that he trustingly rests his head on my shoulder, love that he sleeps with his mouth open and looks like a tiny piglet.

  
  


“It doesn’t look like he’s sleeping at a good angle with his head like that, he’s going to have a stiff neck when he wakes up.” Mahdi looks at us in the mirror as he speaks.  
“Should I try to place his head in my lap? Would that be better?” I look into the mirror, make eye contact with Mahdi. He is the most considerate of all of the guys, I’ve decided to trust his judgement. He nods, shrugs a shoulder. He doesn’t know either.

  
  


“Why don’t you just wake him up? Jesus.” Jonas shakes his head and watches me sceptically as I ease my right arm out from under Isak. I support him with my other arm, move him gently forward and wrap my half-dead right arm around him. Isak picks up my movements and cooperates in his sleep. I manoeuvre his head and shoulders onto my lap. Isak twists his body and lies on his side, in a kind of crippled foetal position with the seatbelt stretched beyond all safety recommendations. “Heey, now he’s taking up even more room on this side as well!” Jonas complains, rolls his eyes. I only smile and shrug, replying with a little wordless “What am I to do? I’ve got to take care of my man.” My man. I still get butterflies in my stomach when I think about it. Isak, my man.

  
  


I look out the window at the fjord landscape. There are fucking tall mountains here, loads of black water. The road is serpentine and narrow, winding its way between stones and fjord. It’s like me. I also fumble along between mountain peaks and the abyss. But, now, since Isak found me, it’s like I’m rolling along, balancing without struggling. Until something unexpected pops up around the next curve.

  
  


Isak moves his head a little, rubs his cheek against my thigh. I look down at him, stroke a soft curl off his forehead. Happy. I’m happy. Together with Isak I’m happy. Happiness hits me like a brick in my stomach and spreads upwards to my chest, my throat, my head. It gives me tears in my eyes. I blink quickly and look out the window again. Happy, insecure, the two go hand-in-hand. I hope Isak can go the distance with me.

  
  


“No! What the fuck? The road ends here!” Magnus shrieks, looking at the sat nav, double-checking out the window. “What’s happening? There’s an hour left of our drive!” He turns back to look at us, perplexed.  
“It’s called a ferry, man. Chill, Magnus.” Jonas points to the display of the sat nav. “It’s right there. Don’t you see the line in the water?”

  
  


Magnus doesn’t answer. He stares at Isak’s head in my lap, at my hands that are carefully, lovingly stroking him. “That there,” he points at Isak, “that there is a traffic hazard!”

  
  


 

** 16:52 ISAK **

 

“I imagined that Bergen looked different. There’s only sea here. And mountains. And fucking ferries? Where’s the city then?” I look out over the landscape, turn to Even. He’s pulled his hood around his head, is standing with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. His shoulders are pulled up, he’s made himself small and compact against the wind. There is, in truth, only water and enormous mountains here. We’re standing on the observation deck at the prow of the ferry and it’s blowing like fucking hell. Wet and cold wind, from all sides at once. I put on my own hood, pull the strings to make it as tight around my face as possible. Retract my hands into the sleeves of my jacket, ball my fists.

  
  


Even looks at me confusedly. “What did you say?” He comes closer, bends his head down towards me. “It’s blowing so hard I didn’t hear what you said.”  
“I thought that Bergen would be more like a city!” I say it loudly, nearly shouting. A twinkle appears in Even’s eye, he smiles broadly and then begins to laugh. He laughs at least as loudly as I yelled, stretching his arms out towards me, wrapping them around my shoulders and crushing me in a hug. I’ve clearly said something daft. Even pulls back a bit, keeping his arms around my shoulders. “We’re not going to Bergen! I knew you hadn’t grasped it this morning! You just sat in the car, nodding in agreement and everything, but I just knew you were spacing out!” He’s still laughing at me, I’m still confused. Weren’t we going to Bergen or what?  
“When? What was happening? Was it when I had my headphones on?” I wrap my arms around Even’s waist, want to give him a hug, but he releases me and takes a step back. He places his hands on my shoulders, turns me so that I’m looking out over the railing. Fjord. Mountains. Not much else. Even moves close to me, embraces me from behind. His mouth is right by my ear.  
“This, baby, is Sogn. Right now we’re sailing into the arm of a fjord, deep into Sognefjord. And that, little sweetie, is where your grandmother has a cabin. Not in Bergen. My geography master. Good thing we had a sat nav. Seriously, Isak, didn’t it ring a bell when you got the address from your grandmother? The cabins at Flatheimstranden and all?

  
  


Seriously, I do not understand a thing. The words are flowing out of Even right now, his voice delightfully haughty. But it’s fine. I got us the cabin, and it’s clearly best that the others take responsibility for getting us there. Even continues to poke fun at me, kissing my throat between little, teasing words. He’s not going to let me hear the end of this for a while. I turn around, my back to the fjord, and wrap my arms around Even again. Challenge him to continue teasing me when he’d rather be kissing me. “So you’re going to trick me into shutting up, huh?” he asks with a smile, placing a hand on my cheek, supporting my jaw with his palm. “Yeah,” I say airily, quickly licking my lips. We’re standing in a boat in the middle of a fjord, it’s blowing like mad, and Even leans in and presses his soft lips against mine. His tongue glides over my lips, I open my mouth to his. Our tongues meet, soft, wet. We’re floating on the fjord, surrounded by towering mountains, and kissing. I may not be a geography master, but this is just fine. It’s just fine being baby and sweetie and being kissed by Even. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is a little joke on Isak's behalf. Bergen is of course a city, it's the second largest city in Norway, lies on the west coast and is sometimes referred to as "the gateway to the fjords". There's much discussion about how Oslo-centered the media in Norway is, anything outside of Oslo is (by some) considered very rural. So Isak, being an urban kid, probably doesn't have much knowledge of Norwegian geography and also probably sees anything in the central western part of Norway as some variation of Bergen.


	7. Will you survive this, Isak?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of cuddles and nearly a fishing trip.

** **Will you survive this, Isak?** **

 

 

**FRIDAY, 30 JUNE**

**08:50 EVEN**

  
  


The cabin is quiet. The only sounds I hear are birdsong through the open window and Isak’s even breathing next to my face. I stretch, lift my arms over my head and loosen up my back and legs. Flex my ankles and feet as far back as they’ll go. I still feel the effects of the long drive on my body, particularly those hours in the cramped backseat when I couldn’t change position.

  
  


Isak is still asleep. He’s lying on his back, his mouth slightly open, and he’s breathing quietly. He is so beautiful, the feeling hits me like a physical blow to the chest, I’m so lucky. He looks like an angel, like one of those choir boys who sing on TV on Christmas Eve. A Silver Boy. The way he’s lying now, completely relaxed, features soft, it looks like he’s never had a care in the world. I wish it were true. I want to protect Isak from everything that can hurt him, take care of him, please him, make him happy. The only thing I can do is try, make so many good days as possible. Fuel to get us through the bad days.

  
  


I let my fingertips trace the contours of his shoulder, beginning at his ear, gliding down his throat, over his muscular shoulder, down to his elbow. He’s strong, Isak. Strong and surprisingly fit. A stark contrast to me, I’m just thin, tall and weak. I trace his shoulder again, beginning at his throat, fingers dancing lightly along the length of his collarbone, finding his deltoid and following it down his upper arm. I’m safe in his arms. The weight of Isak’s arms around me is all I need. It grounds me when my feet want to be anywhere but the ground, when my head wants to fly. My boyfriend. I get butterflies in my stomach every time I think about it. Isak is my boyfriend. Beautiful, delicious Isak is my boyfriend.

  
  


He stretches a bit, scoots closer to me. Is he awake? I let my index finger circle his nipple, tickling it carefully with my nail. He grunts a little, inhales. I move my fingers in small patterns on his chest, drawing feathery hearts on Isak’s skin with my index finger. He’s asleep. I push the duvet down a bit, letting my hand stroke his stomach.

  
  


Lying here with Isak is relaxing and worry-free. We’re on our first trip to a cabin, the first morning of our first holiday. All the experiences we will have for the first time, later to be repeated for the rest of lives. Together. It’s a grandiose thought that fills me with happiness. I look up at the ceiling and smile to myself.

  
  


Our room is a cube of yellowed wooden panelling. It covers the walls and ceiling, even the floor is golden with brown knots. The flowered curtains are light and let in the morning sun. The duvet cover is pink, with a pattern of small kittens. All the kittens wear bows around their necks, some play with balls of yarn, others drink milk out of small yellow saucers. Magnus had fun handing out the bedlinens from the large cupboard in the hall yesterday evening. He chose a well-worn and faded Ninja Turtles duvet cover for himself, made his bed with unexpected reverence. There was a certain amount of discussion when it came to assigning the bedrooms before we could go to sleep. In the end, Isak and I got the room with a single bed and a little red chest of drawers on top of which an antiquated cassette player is perched. We have 100 centimetres to share, and are sleeping on a hard foam mattress in a yellowed pine bed that was made to fit this room and bolted to the wall 40 years ago. The double bed is in the other bedroom, with Mahdi and Jonas tucked up under their rose-covered, lace-edged duvet covers. Magnus is sleeping in the bunk bed above them. Mummy, daddy, baby, I chuckle a little: they paint a lovely picture.

  
  


Is he awake yet? My fingers pluck lazily at the small hairs on Isak’s stomach, stroking his skin, gentling scraping him with my nails. He’s asleep. I bury my face in his neck, breathe in the sweet smell of sleep, feel a bit dizzy. Isak’s scent has become so familiar to me that it’s like breathing in the scent of a warm and safe hug. I want everything to be precisely like this forever. I let my hand glide a little lower down, under the duvet, tracing the contours of Isak’s abs. My fingers tap and jump lightly on the thin skin of his groin. Isak moans gently and moves one leg to the side, exposing more of that sensitive skin. It’s a touchingly trusting movement. I feel a flush of pride at the thought that it’s me he’s opening himself for. Is he awake yet? I push the duvet aside, stroking the inside of one of his thighs with a feathery touch, caressing that small bend where his torso meets his leg. He twists a little, bends his knee, angles his thigh even more out to the side. Not awake yet? My hand makes its way upwards again, fingers swirling in a continuous pattern on the very top of his thigh. He inhales again, flexes his thigh, moves a few millimetres upwards in my direction. I am lucky. Lucky to be allowed to lie here naked next to Isak and touch his skin as if I owned it. “You are so fucking beautiful,” I whisper softly into Isak’s ear, kissing his throat.

  
  


“What are you doing?” Isak whispers back, his voice heavy with sleep. He yawns, rubs his head against mine. Cuddles.  
“Nothing.” My fingers continue to draw patterns on the top of his thigh, lightly, ticklingly.   
  
“You’re a tease, Even.” His are eyes are smiling, mischievous. Isak reaches out his hand and grips my wrist. He moves my open hand slowly, only a few centimetres, places it on his balls. He places his hand on top of mine, presses down, surrounding my hand with his. Now I’m the one who gasps; it’s sexy. I like that Isak is taking control. He turns his face towards mine, we kiss. It’s soft and warm and lazy. Isak is warm and firm in the curve of my hand.   
“Good morning, my little sweetie,” I whisper to him. Isak presses against me, and I enjoy the sensational feeling of his naked and warm body against mine.  
  
  


“Even!” There’s a banging at the door as it’s being shoved open. And there’s Magnus, in the room. He’s fully dressed and is holding an orange lifejacket in his hand, a big smile on his face. “Do you want to come fishing? We can borrow a boat!”

  
  


I retract my hand with a jolt and sit up in bed.   
“Jesus Christ, Magnus! Have you ever heard of knocking?” I shout louder than necessary. Magnus is standing five centimetres from our bed. Isak is mumbling something while trying to cover himself, cover me, with the duvet. His face is red and embarrassed. My cheeks are burning as well. I curl my back and bend over a bit to hide just how sexy our little morning session was.

  
  


“Ammagaaaad! Sorry! Sorry dudes! Sorry Evak!” Magnus lifts his arms, his palms facing us and backs out of the room bowing slightly. He pulls the door closed as he leaves, fumbling and slamming the handle.   
Isak shakes his head, hides his face in the pillow. “Jesus Christ.” I pull the duvet over us, even though it’s rather pointless now. I’ve got to laugh, it’s too comical. It’s so Magnus. It had to happen. I lower myself to Isak, wrap my arms around him, let him bury his face in my chest.   
“Are you okay, Isak? Will you survive this?” I’m laughing as I ask, the laughter bubbling through me, I can feel tears in my eyes. Isak only shakes his head and curls up into my arms.

  
  


 

**15:11 ISAK**

“Do we know how far the others have come, actually?” Even is standing at the kitchen counter, his back to me, wiping the countertop down with a cloth. We’ve just eaten a late lunch – rolls, sandwich meats and cheese – simple, nothing fancy. Even looks over his shoulder as he asks, widening his eyes a bit when he says the last word. I’m sitting at the large dining table by the sitting room window, have chosen the spot with the best view. I remember back to the one time I was at the cabin, Mamma always wanted to sit here. I’m not particularly concerned with enjoying the nature, really, but even I can see that this view is more than okay. I look far over the fjord; the mountains are massive and tower above both sides of the water. Mostly I‘m looking for harbour porpoises, like I did last time I was here. The water is completely calm, no restless furrows or bubbles that would invite me to search more closely for those small porpoises. I look at Even, shrug my shoulders.  
“No. I don’t know. Should we text them?” I’ve already grabbed the phone before Even has nodded his head, and I send a quick text to Jonas.

  
  


[Where are you?]

I get a reply at once.

[Just arrived. Had to stop and wash the car, Mags puked.]

  
  


“Eew. Magnus puked in the car. They’ve just arrived.” I grimace at Even. Bloody hell, puking in the car is fucking disgusting, it’s going to stink something fierce.   
“No! Mamma’s going to kill me. She hates the smell of vomit.” Even looks rather pale himself, he’s probably thinking that the guys don’t have the best cleaning skills. “Text back and tell them they have to buy that vomit odour remover spray. At the petrol station. Jeez. That’s the least they can do when they fucking puke in the car. And wet wipes. We should’ve put some towels in the car. And plastic bags,” says Even frantically.   
“Vomit odour remover spray? What ON EARTH is that?” I haven’t a clue what Even is talking about.   
“You can buy a spray at petrol stations, it like removes puke stench.” Even looks at me as if he can’t conceive of anyone not knowing about that spray. Mamma uses Jif spray on everything. How am I supposed to know that there are special sprays to remove puke stench?

  
  


I text Jonas about the spray, but I don’t plan to get any more involved in Magnus’s puke. I feel queasy just thinking about it.   
“And Magnus. It’s always the ones you don’t expect to puke who puke, man.” Even clearly can’t drop the subject.

  
  


I look out the window again, check the surface of the water for a sign of harbour porpoises, or fish at the least. The only thing I see is a little boat that belongs to our next-door neighbour, the boat we can borrow if we want to go fishing. I close my eyes in embarrassment and anxiety when I think about Magnus barging into our room this morning. That image will be burned into his brain for life. There are some things you can never erase from your memory, and I suspect that Even and me naked with our morning wood may just be one of those things. And Magnus, I’m uncertain whether he would really want to erase that memory. I feel queasy again, there’s something really fucked up about that thought.

  
  


“Perhaps your uncle next door has a good detergent we can use on the car?” Even nods in the direction of the boat on the fjord.   
“Perhaps. We can ask.”

  
  


I was surprised that there were more cabins here. I didn’t remember them from when I was last here. There are three small cabins surrounding a little yard. The cabin closest to ours belongs to Kåre, or if you ask Even, to ‘my uncle next door’. I have absolutely no idea what kind of family ties we have. He welcomed us when we arrived, said something about how nice it was to see me and how much I’d changed since he’d last seen me. Which isn’t exactly strange since I was five years old the last time he saw me. I got a little freaked out talking to Kåre, as if I were talking to a weird stalker who had background information about me. “How’s your mother? It was probably a good thing that you moved out. And your granny’s dog died, so tragic that it was run over by a car.” Magnus and Jonas had spoken to him before they’d left to go shopping. They’d found out where the closest village was and were strictly admonished to look far ahead to check for oncoming traffic. “It’s much better to stop where the road is wide, boys, so you don’t have to back up along these windy roads.”

  
  


My phone vibrates on the table: Jonas has sent a new text.

[60 km til the nearest petrol station. Can we drop the spray?]

I don’t ask Even, just reply quickly.

[No. Gotta have that spray. Otherwise Even’s mother will blow a gasket.]

  
  


Or Even will. That spray seemed pretty essential. I think it’s best that they get it.

  
  


I take a peek at Even. He’s reading a bottle he found in the cupboard under the kitchen sink. “Scouring powder. Do you know what scouring powder is used for, Isak?”

  
  


I can’t be bothered to answer. It’s pretty clear that I haven’t a clue about scouring powder.   
“Don’t think they’ll be back for at least two hours, man.”

  
  


Even turns to me, leans against the countertop. “Okay. Should we go for a walk?” He nods backwards, towards the open kitchen window, towards the warm, sunny afternoon outside. I get up, take my glass to the kitchenette. I’m not particularly hip on going for a walk right now.

  
  


I gently lean against Even, wrap my arms around his neck. We look at one another. Bloody hell, he is so unbelievably hot, I can’t help myself from bending towards him to kiss him. I don’t want to help myself either. He opens his lips, slips his tongue into my mouth, meeting my tongue with his. It sends a shiver through me. I place my hand on the back of his head, making a counterweight to the weight I’m putting into the kiss, coming even closer.

  
  


Even’s hands are resting on my hips, it tickles when his thumbs slide under the waistband of my trousers. “I like you in these trousers.” I feel my cheeks heat up, even though Even is generous with his compliments and often comments on what he likes about me. His hands slide further down my ass, stroking it firmly, one hand on each check. My chest starts to bubble in anticipation, small bubbles of desire. I don’t answer him, rub my nose against his, kiss him.

  
  


Even pulls his head back a bit, tilts it to the side, kissing my ear, letting his lips glide over my earlobe. His tongue is wet and warm on the sensitive hollow behind my earlobe. He strokes my lower back under my T-shirt with both hands. I get goose pimples when he slides the tips of his fingers sideways under the elastic waist of my boxers and plunges his hands down. He’s kissing the side of my neck, his parted lips and tongue forming a vacuum that suctions onto the thin, sensitive skin, moving a few millimetres with each kiss, with each suck. His hands are cupping my ass cheeks, a hand on each one, skin against skin.

  
  


His mouth is next to my ear again, whispering, “They’re so fucking tight though. Make your ass look really sexy.” My knees go a bit weak, I hang my head back, release a low moan. Even’s long and slender fingers are moulding themselves to the curve of my ass, I can sense his fingertips at the base of my balls. I gasp, a shiver runs through me, Even is using his hands to press me to him. I’m fit to burst at the front of my trousers from the pressure of Even’s hands grinding me against his own rock-hard crotch. I move towards him hungrily, increasing the pressure between us. I search out his mouth, want more of Even’s warm tongue, want to feel his lust, feel that he wants me as much as I want him. He removes his hands from my trousers, uses them to push me away from him gently. His face is close to my face, forehead against forehead, both of us breathing heavily, rapidly. Even places his hand on my hard bulge, cups his hand and fingers around it, moulding them to the shape of my erection. I press against him, place my hands on his ass, pull him to me.

  
  


“It’s a tight squeeze in here, huh?” Even’s words are warm air and breath and moans against my ear. He looks me in the eyes as he undoes my flies, eyefucks me while he slips his hand down the front of my boxers. I moan, mouth half open, I have to close my eyes. The first slick drops of my desire smooth the friction of Even’s palm rubbing against me. He moves his hand in a small circular movement before letting the heel of his palm slide all the way down, and I feel his fingers encircling me. He kisses me deeply, with the same hungry tenderness that I feel. His tongue is hard, pulses against my own. His firm grip is moving up and down, I crush myself against him, rotate back in the same rhythm. I inhale sharply, using my hands to help Even shove my trousers and boxers down, off. 

  
  


A picture from another time, another place pops into my head. I’m standing absolutely still in a stranger’s bathroom, I’m at a party. My arms are hanging straight down, my hands balled into fists. Sara is on her knees in front of me, her mouth close to my cock. I’m disgusted, all I can think is “please, let me hold out long enough, please, let this be over soon.”

  
  


Now I’m gently grasping Even’s head in my hands, my fingers woven into his hair, I’m one with Even as he moves down my body. I feel his tongue and wet kisses on my stomach, I pull him to me, flex my muscles, and throw my head back. My entire self is filled with pure excitement, anticipation, all I can think is “please, take me, take me, take me, take me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you may need some information about the concept of cabins. Many Norwegian families have a vacation home or cabin somewhere remote - by the fjord, in the mountains, by the sea. Traditionally, these cabins have a simpler standard than a normal home, and very often discarded items from home will be put to use in the cabin. For instance, washed out bed linen with cartoon prints, once the kids are too old to want to use them at home.


	8. Have you ever been in a boat before?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even thinks about the first time Isak was at his house, and a tiny bit of gay pride.

 

** **Have you ever been in a boat before?** **

 

 

**SATURDAY, 1 JULY**

 

**11:21 EVEN**

 

I’m standing in the kitchenette of the cabin, buttering halves of freshly baked rolls, putting on ham and thin slices of cheese. The cheese plane has small ridges so there are striped grooves on the slices. Thankfully the cheese isn’t as sweaty as it was when Isak and I made cheese toasties at my house. I shake my head and smile to myself, thinking about that afternoon. Cardamom. I took a major chance when I lied to Isak and said that I’d forgot my ID at home. Turned and walked away from him before I’d even made a plan. I acted on impulse, as if my feet knew I’d have a better chance of getting Isak to follow if I remained in motion. A greater risk of him beginning to wonder if I was weird if I’d tried to spin a story, make an argument for why he should come home with me.

  
  


“Come on, then.” Unbelievable that those small words would change everything.

  
  


I don’t know what we talked about there in the windowsill of my room. I see a silent clip when I think back to that afternoon. No words, but filled with tension, stolen glances, smiles, Isak’s tinkling laughter, my own quivering anticipation, a pounding hope that this extraordinary boy could be my friend. A tiny forbidden thought that kept popping up: is there something else here as well? Is Isak looking at me now? A warm wave rolled up from my stomach, clouding my sensibility. I wanted to touch him, make random contact, feel physical evidence that we were sharing this moment, that it wasn’t just me. But I’d tried that before. I couldn’t take the chance that I’d misjudged Isak, a precipitate touch, a manic  _idée fixe_ . That gaze of his, I didn’t want to do anything to ruin it.

  
  


Isak’s eyes filled with disdain and disgust for me – my fear broke through a couple of times, sending that image like a shot through my brain. Gave me a reality check. “Chill. If there’s something here, Isak has to do something. Not you. Not you first.” My memory is not entirely silent, those words spiralled endlessly within me. It helped me to concentrate nervously on the spices and cheese while Isak’s phone beeped and vibrated and reminded him that his world was outside, not in here with me. I felt a small hope when Isak shoved his phone back into his pocket. Was he also deaf and blind to everything else besides what was happening right here between us? Is something happening between us now? I was dying for a sign, but Isak was sending such ambiguous signals. Am I just a new acquaintance? Am I just someone who misunderstands, someone who is too eager to see something in those shining dark eyes? And when that strong and clear sign came, when Isak’s signal was impossible to misunderstand, then it was too late. The moment had passed, the magic was gone. There I was, kissing Sonja as if there still were a spark between us, sending out a cascade of distorted and misleading signals myself.

  
  


In truth it’s impossible to understand that we got together. Isak and me.

  
  


I wrap the rolls in aluminium foil and put them in a bag. I open the tiny refrigerator under the counter and take out packages of beef mince and sausages to get to a wedge of watermelon. The fridge is so full that the food is stacked in layers on the shelves. There’s no room for the cans of beer, so they’re in the shed, tepid, along with several bottles of Fanta and Mahdi’s small cans of Redbull and Burn. I slice the melon into thick triangles, find a plastic bowl and put them in pointed tops up. Should I add some grapes as well? I cut small clusters using the kitchen scissors and place them next to the watermelon slices. What’s missing? Should I make coffee and put it in a thermos flask, or is that too much? I grab the coffee tin, fill the coffee maker with water. While the coffee maker gurgles away, I search for a thermos. I finally find one at the back of the cupboard behind the pots and pans. It has a faded, rather scratched picture of a smiling, lounging Mickey and “Mickey Mouse” in red lettering. It’s strange to think that Isak was a little kid the last time he was here. Perhaps he’d drunk cocoa from this very thermos back then. Isak’s past making its way into our future: it’s a nice thought.

  
  


There’s a loud knocking at the window. I startle and spill coffee down the side of the thermos, it runs along the white countertop. Kåre’s outside, waving and gesturing for me to open the window. The uncle next door. Isak can’t remember him or place him in the family tree, but he’s clearly a rather close relative, or at least a relative that has had a lot of contact with Isak’s grandmother and mother.

  
  


“Hi!” I tilt the window all the way up and lean over the windowsill.   
“Hi there. So you’re the head chef, I see?” Kåre nods towards the thermos and the cheese that’s still out on the counter.   
“Yeah, I’ve made a little lunch for us. Isak and the others have already gone down to the sea.”

  
  


Kåre guffaws and nods. “That’s why I’m here. They’re clearly not used to boats. I’m wondering, have you been in a boat before?” Kåre, no doubt, has been watching the boys’ clumsy attempts to pull the boat in; it’s moored to a buoy in the water. I chuckled a bit myself earlier while watching them from the sitting room window. Someone has to tell them that they have to loosen the mooring line on land first. Kåre continues, “I can move the boat to the floating dock now to make it easier for you to use. But I’m thinking about for later, for when you come here another time. It’s better if I explain it to you than to Isak, no?”

  
  


I’m not sure what to reply. I noticed that Isak was evasive when we first greeted Kåre. He presented me as one of the guys and didn’t mention that we were together. It’s no stress for me, I’m not offended. I know Isak thinks it’s tiring to come out to every new person we meet. God, I can understand. I’m both mentally ill and queer, I know all too well how small you feel standing there with your heart in your hand, explaining who you are. When you have to emphasise your difference. It goes hand-in-hand with some uncertainty. What’s their reaction going to be? Are there going to be dumb questions? Shifty eyes? Ridiculous and rude comments? Or will they not get it? Will I have to repeat myself, use other words, underline that I’m not part of the majority? Isak’s really concerned with being allowed to be gay in his own way. And for him that doesn’t entail those visible cues that heteros so like to see. No leggings, no mascara, no limp wrists, no femmy voice. I suspect that this increases the frequency of the coming out conversations that he hates, but he can’t exactly change his personality to avoid them. Although he would undoubtedly be irresistible in leggings.

  
  


“Eh, yeah, the guys might come up here again.” It’s the most neutral thing I can think of to say.   
Is he looking at me a little strangely? I smile, a bit unsure, don’t want to mess things up for Isak. It’s his family after all, he gets to decide how to do things.   
“No, but we expect that you and Isak will be coming here again in the summer, right? Now that you’ve first found your way here.” Kåre looks at me inquisitively. “You are Even, right? Or have I mixed you guys up? You are his boyfriend?”

  
  


Now I’m the one blinking confusedly. How does he know that? Did Isak actually say something? “Yes, I’m his boyfriend.” It feels weird to say it to a nearly total stranger.   
Kåre just smiles, continues prattling on, “We were very happy when Marianne told us that Isak had found a nice boy. It’s good that he has stability. It hasn’t been easy.”

  
  


I’d like to ask more, Isak tells me barely anything about his childhood. But I’m paralysed by surprise: imagine that Marianne has told them about Isak and me. I doubt if Isak knows. He’s still unsure whether his mother is genuinely comfortable seeing the two of us together.   
Kåre has moved on to another topic of conversation, the previous one clearly less monumental to him. He’s telling me something about the cluster of cabins, about who lives in the third cabin. He nods towards the sea, looks at me. “Oh, Even, now it looks like they need help down there. Are you coming?”

 

I nod, still at a loss for words.

 


	9. Talk-about-your-feelings master

**Talk-about-your-feelings master**

**18:01 ISAK**

“But I am placing one hand under the other! What do you mean by loop? How am I supposed to make it into a loop?”

Mahdi is standing on the small floating dock and shouting up at us. He’s holding the blue rope to the motorboat in his hands, clumsily trying to tie a half hitch.

“You have to hold the rope with both hands! Not one on top of the other! Side by side, with some rope between them! Then you take your right hand under the left and put the loop over that metal ring down there.” Even has raised up, is standing on the large wooden deck, shading his eyes and shouting instructions down to Mahdi.

I like to sit like this and watch him, it’s sexy to watch him boss our friends around. He’s wearing those light-coloured jeans, it’s not really summer weather today. The jeans are tight and accentuate his long legs and firm bum. Jonas is reclining beside me, his legs stretched out, leaning back on his elbows. I notice that he’s following my gaze, see his thick eyebrows twitch when he realises I’m sitting here admiring Even. “You two, jeez. You’re lost, man.” He smiles. “Lost for everyone else.”   
I laugh a little, shrug my shoulders. “Yeah, I am.” No use denying it.

“What is the loop? I only see my hands. I need help with that loop, man!” Mahdi looks up at us dejectedly, waving for assistance. “Are you coming, Even?”  
Even just shakes his head, laughs and stares resignedly at Mahdi’s failed attempt. “Just make a granny knot, Mahdi. Then I’ll fix it later!”  
“Granny knot? What the fuck is a granny knot, man?” Mahdi stands there looking helpless with the rope in his hand.  
“Seriously? A granny knot is like a regular knot. Are you for real?” Jonas takes pity on Mahdi and goes down to help him, shaking his head. The little floating dock tilts to one side under their weight.

Even sits down close behind me, with one foot on either side of me. He drapes his arms around my shoulders, pulls himself forward and leans against my back. We look out over the water. The surface is blue and calm. The mountains on the other side of the narrow fjord are high, covered with trees, and there are still small patches of snow at the top. Water is trickling down in small waterfalls, while in other places there are mounds from rockslides. There are not many houses here, only a few farms, generously spread out. I see a tractor moving slowly along a forest road. It’s as small as a Lego car, the surrounding landscape is gigantic.

Magnus is trying to light the grill that is standing beside the large boathouse. He’s filled it with charcoal and is struggling with a lighter that won’t light. We’re going to grill sausages. Even has packed a cooler with all the trimmings and placed it in the shade of the open boathouse. The beer cans are cooling in the water, safe among the seaweed and large rocks in the foreshore.

“Everything okay?” Even’s voice is quiet against my ear. His mouth is so close that I can feel the movement of his lips when he speaks. I lean my head back a bit, rub my ear and side of my neck against Even’s face.  
“Mm.” I don’t need to reply in words. Even’s question is familiar and safe. He always asks me if I’m okay. Not like a routine question where he doesn’t give two shits about the answer, but like a little double-check to see if there’s anything he can do for me. In the beginning I thought it was a bit awkward and I always quickly answered “yes”. Answered him the same way I would’ve answered Jonas or Pappa. But Even is Even. He doesn’t ask to get a meaningless confirmation that everything is okay, that he doesn’t need to think any more about it. I understood that this winter, when Mamma was all over the place. She kept ringing me, showed up at the door of the kollektivet, sat in the sitting room and talked about Jesus and how only the chosen can understand that Armageddon is near. Lots of talk of blood and some capes. Called Eskild a white angel. Everyone there understood that things were pretty bad, but it wasn’t difficult to see that they were relieved when I mumbled my standard reply. I’m okay. Look down at the floor. Shrug my shoulders. I didn’t want to burden Even with it either. I mean it’s enough to be bipolar, you don’t need a boyfriend with crazy-mamma issues as well. Or so I thought. But I’m not exactly the talk-about-your-feelings master. That much I can admit. And talk about Mamma. That I don’t do. Period. It’s enough for me to spend quiet time with Even, to be spared from lying that transparent lie that everything is okay. He understands. He understands that every time there is something new with Mamma. No nagging, just that little question, “Everything okay?” I answer silently, but Even understands. Sits with me, ruffles my hair, whispers little words against my neck, slowly making it a little easier to live with. My mother is insane. And that’s not going to change.

“Hey, let’s take a picture! A fjord selfie!” My phone is next to us on the deck. Even grabs it and holds it up in front of us. Our faces fill the screen, you can see the fjord and mountains in the background. We smile, it’s like a DeLillos’ song:  
 _...where the world was harmless, along Norway’s coast somewhere …_

_That verse makes me think of Pappa. Of my insane mother. Mamma. I haven’t spoken to her since May 17th, when she stood at our front door with a massive kransekake in her hands. “For our May 17th brunch!” It was quarter past six in the morning. Mamma passed around kransekake rings with flags and cracker bonbons, opened a bottle of aquavit and poured it into our flowered flea-market teacups. Nicely dressed in a bunad, but with greasy, uncombed hair and streaks of old makeup under her eyes. Even, with his soft, unstyled bed head, in boxers and a T-shirt, sleep in his eyes. Quick, worried glances at me, Mamma._

_Pappa was away on a long weekend in London. “Why are you ringing so early? Yes, just ring for a taxi for her, Isak. I’ll transfer the money by mobile pay if you have to pay.” In the end, Even’s father drove in from their cabin at Hvaler. There was Mamma, on our little balcony, holding an incoherent speech about freedom, democracy and why Jesus lives on in Donald Trump. She went along willingly with Even’s father, called him Jens-man. We lay in bed for the rest of the day, no words, no questions. Even close behind me, long, strong arms around me. He put on an old film, said it was one of Leonardo DiCaprio’s first roles, that it was a good choice right now, kinda feelgood, that Johnny Depp is fantastic in the film. I lay there, couldn’t say a word, just watched a film about another dysfunctional family, was both gladdened and saddened when I saw all the love they had for each other. “It’ll be alright, Isak. We’ll manage this.” No questions._

_“Even? Do you remember that film we watched? When Mamma lost it? On May 17th?”  
I twist around and look at Even sideways. “What was that thing Gilbert’s mother said? That knight thing?”  
Even looks at me in surprise, which isn’t so strange considering I was nearly apathetic that day. “Uh, ‘knight in shimmering armour’, is that what you mean?” Even pulls his upper lip up a bit, looks at me questioningly.  
A knight in shimmering armour. Yeah. That’s what I meant. The glittering, sequin-covered gay son, that’s me. Not much of a knight. I find Mamma in my contact list, my fingers are trembling over the screen but then I just do it._

_[Hi Mamma. We’re at the cabin. It’s very nice here.]  
I attach the photo of Even and me. We look happy. Shimmering._

_“Why do you ask?” Even hugs me, rocks me gently from side to side.  
“No. No reason.” Awesome reply, Isak. I lean back against Even, look out over the water, checking the surface for harbour porpoises._

_“The grill’s almost ready!” Magnus tromps over the deck, settling heavily in one of the worn plastic chairs. The legs of the chair bend slightly inwards when he sits down. Jonas and Mahdi have finally managed to tie a half hitch, or at least something that will hopefully hold the boat in place. They’re on their way over the gangplank, which is so narrow that they have to walk single file._

_My phone beeps.  
[All the beautiful God Our Father has created !] _

_Mamma.  
It beeps again, several times._

_[He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love.]_

_[His left hand is under my head, and his right arm embraces me.]_

_[Then I found him whom my soul loves. I held him and would not let him go.]_

_Mamma. I notice it myself, my body has stiffened, I’m holding the phone in my hand which has frozen into a claw. “What is it? Is something wrong?” Even whispers in my ear, giving me the opportunity to keep this between ourselves. Disappointed, surly tears gather in my eyes, I blink them away quickly and pass my phone to Even. I should’ve known it was a bad idea to send that photo to Mamma. Why can’t she reply normally for once? Stop always writing those sick, weird texts._

_“Isak.” Even’s voice is different than it was, he sounds serious. I turn around, break our embrace and kneel in front of him. “Isak, she means us.” Even is smiling, his blue eyes sparkling, he looks happy. I don’t understand what he means.  
“That text? ‘All the beautiful God Our Father has created ’, I think she means us. I think we just got a thumbs up from your mother.” Even lifts his eyebrows quickly, two times, nods towards me. “Don’t you see? Read it one more time!” He gives me my phone back. Perhaps he’s right. Perhaps she’s trying to say something nice with those cryptic bible quotes. But it’s not easy for me to believe, after all the other weird stuff she’s written before. Even touches my arm, tilts my gaze to his._

_“She told that Kåre guy that she’s glad you’ve found a nice boy. He told me earlier. I mean it is me, right?” He grins, does his eyebrow thing again.  
“You’re joking?” I’m surprised, can’t really believe it.   
“No, I’m not joking. Your mother loves me, dude.” _

_I turn towards the fjord again, have to make a little space for everything I’m feeling. Mamma. I guess she’s trying the best she can. I smile a little, read her texts again. Even takes my hand in his, stroking the top with his thumb.  
‘All the beautiful God Our Father has created .’ Aww, Mamma._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May 17th is the Norwegian Constitution Day, where we celebrate the signing of our constitution on that date in 1814. This is the date where Norway became an independent kingdom. It's an official public holiday and referred to simply as "seventeenth of May". There are parades in the streets, marching bands, all the ice-cream you could possibly desire - basically a huge party for everyone. Many Norwegians will wear their bunad - the traditional national costume. This is also a day for many traditional Norwegian dishes, among many others also kransekake, which is a cake consisting of stacked almond rings, often decorated with flags and sugar icing.


	10. Find out how awesome it is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chilling, good vibes round a bonfire on the shore. For some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a surprising amount of advanced fluff here. But this time the story actually required it!

**Find out how awesome it is**

**SUNDAY, 2 JULY 2017  
18:02 ISAK **

We’ve been on our feet for seven hours. On a mountain hike. Luckily we took the shortest route in the hiking map we found in the cabin, ambitious enough for five Oslo boys in trainers and skinny jeans. Four hours up, three hours down. Rewarded with an absolutely sick view from the top. The fjord snaking its way towards the sea, with dozens of long arms sticking out to each side. Us at the top of the mountain, high above the water, surrounded by mountain peaks that are just as high as the one we’re on, like massive blue stones, dice thrown along both sides of the water.

Right now everything’s chill. We’re sitting on the stone beach below the cabin, all of us worn out from the hike. It’s overcast, a bit grey, far too cold to swim. It’s also fully low tide, and Kåre has told us that the water is much warmer when it’s high tide. Melt water is running down the mountainside in hundreds of small streams and waterfalls, so I have no problem trusting his advice. Although it’s not like I would know the difference between how 12 and 13° C feels.

Jonas and Even have built a bonfire close to the water. They’ve collected driftwood and dry, broken branches in the steep forested slope leading up to the road. I actually had no idea that Even had been a scout when he was little, but it’s kinda hot to see that he’s got genuine bonfire skills. The burning wood is crackling; it’s absurd, but it smells like winter.

Mahdi exits the boathouse with a bucket full of water, places it beside the bonfire. Has he seriously filled a bucket with water from the tap?  
“What’s that for?” Jonas nods towards the bucket.  
“Fire safety, man. If we have to extinguish the fire quickly!” Everyone looks at Mahdi. I think they’re thinking the same thing I am: Has he lost it completely?  
“The bonfire is on the beach, Mahdi! It’s like 15 centimetres to the water, dude!” Even laughs loudly, nudges Mahdi’s shoulder with a loose fist.  
“It’s a fjord, Even. It’s not the sea!” Mahdi tries to defend himself by changing the topic, twisting it so we laugh at Even instead.  
“The fjord is connected to the sea.” Jonas butts in dryly.

This is really nice. Mildly sarcastic, slightly quarrelsome, lightly teasing – nice. Magnus’s badgering is not nice.

I take a sip of my beer. I’ve just opened it and the can is ice-cold from its fjord bath. It’s my third in the course of an hour, my thoughts are drifting comfortably and I can feel the heat of the flames on my face. I rub my hand against the side of my thigh, drying off the saltwater from the beer can against my trousers. We’re sitting in a small half-circle around the fire. Even and Jonas are farthest from me. They’ve nabbed two low folding chairs and are enthroned, like two small bonfire chiefs. Mahdi, Magnus and I are sitting on the large rock that slopes lazily down towards the water. “When the Ole Stone is covered by water, then it’s high tide, Isak, and the water’s warmest for swimming.” Did Mamma tell me that? Or is it from one of the many short conversations we’ve had with Kåre through windows, from the top of the slope, shouting up from the floating dock?

I’ve nearly stopped getting worked up about Magnus’s badgering about sex. Have begun to see all his detailed and invasive questions as part of that constant stream of casual sex talk the boys engage in anyway. Pussy talk. Do you hit the G-spot better with your fingers or your dick? Do girls always come when you go down on them? Is it cool to go down on a girl you just met? Does it mean she’s obligated to go down on you? An endless flow of questions, the one a variation of the other. The answers are even worse than the questions, anecdotal evidence from their own and others’ experience in cringeworthy detail.

“You don’t have to avoid answering just because you bang boys! We can handle hearing about it!” There’s no sense in trying to explain that that’s not why I remove myself from the conversation. I’ve understood that he can “handle” hearing about it. But I don’t have any desire to talk about it! It was stupid of me to send the film to Magnus, I understand that now. I was drunk and I was just so incredibly proud of Even and me, together – that’s why I wanted to share it. Thought it could answer all his questions more directly and graphically than embarrassing words. Bad call.

He’s not even asking a particularly awful question this time, it’s a rather standard Magnus question that he’s asked many times before. Clearly without getting a satisfactory answer.

“Isak, what does it actually taste like when you suck dick?”  
Magnus looks at me with wide eyes, nods his head a bit, encouraging me to say something. He’s smiling open-mouthed, absolutely oblivious to the fact that he’s slowly killing me here.

Seriously. In what corner of the universe is that a normal question to ask? We’re sitting around a bonfire drinking beer. Dicks and blow jobs are the last things on my mind right now, so why does Magnus think it’s the right time to bring it up? I look quickly at Even, who’s squatting by the fire, fussing with some sticks. I don’t know whether he’s heard what Magnus said.

“It’s okay to ask, no? We tell those kinds of things to you!” Magnus continues, throwing his arms wide and pointing to Even. “Is it such a big deal to tell us?” He nods encouragingly at Even, takes a sip of his beer.  
“Tell you what?” Even stands up, looks at us questioningly.  
“What it’s like to suck dick!” Magnus says loudly, smiling brightly, concerned only with getting an answer to his fucking question.

I look down, scratch at the stone we’re sitting on with my nail. Feel a bit empty. Only want Magnus to shut the fuck up. Want him to understand that this is not a general question he can ask me. He doesn’t ask for the sake of science, he’s asking his way under the striped duvet on our bed. I could reply, but then I wouldn’t describe what it’s like to suck a cock. No, I would describe what it’s like to leave a trail of kisses along the warm skin of Even’s inner thigh, how it feels to rub my nose against his soft balls, breathe in the dark scent of his skin and pubic hair, how I can feel the texture of his ball sac against my tongue, small soft ridges, before my tongue hits the hard stones inside them. How my saliva helps my lips glide up and down Even’s length, tiny kisses, tiny bites, how my tongue rubs against the velvety dry skin at the tip, moistens it, mixes my spit with the salty wet taste oozing out, showing me how welcome my kisses are. I’d describe how he fills my mouth, how I open my jaw, flatten and pull back my tongue, create space to take in as much as I can of the one I love. How I can feel his hand in my hair, on my arm, how I begin to throb and grow, hard and full of anticipation, how my heart swells with the sounds he’s making, with his upward thrusts, with his velvety tip against the inside of my cheek. 

That is what he’s asking about. But it is something I want to keep between me and Even.

“Magnus, pull it together, dude!” Mahdi nudges Magnus with his foot, but he’s grinning broadly, obviously comfortable with both the question and the topic. Even has sat back down in the folding chair, legs spread wide, leaning back, beer in hand. I watch the flames of the bonfire, don’t want to make eye contact with Even right now, this whole situation is making me uncomfortable.

“I truly don’t understand! I’m sure you do it all the time, so why can’t you just describe what it’s like? Is it so horrible that you can’t even talk about it?” Magnus asks with a challenging stare that flits between Even and me, his mouth in an ‘O’.

“Seriously, Magnus, your obsessive interest in blow jobs and dicks is unhealthy, dude. What’s up with that?” There’s humour in Even’s voice, but he’s serious as well. I look at him. He’s looking curiously at Magnus, wrinkling his forehead.  
“He’s just upset that he can’t suck his own dick, dude!” Mahdi laughs at his own joke, jostles Magnus again.  
“Jesus, pull yourselves together already.” Jonas shakes his head from his chair beside Even’s. “Stop bugging Isak.”  
“No, I’m just curious, you know. Nothing wrong with that!” Magnus looks from face to face, shrugging his shoulders, hands up in peace, using his whole body to emphasise just how normal it is that he’s totally obsessed by the topic.

“Perhaps you should try it, then. Get it out of your system. Find out how awesome it is.” Even holds Magnus’s gaze, raises his eyebrows, winks at him. He still sitting in his chair, legs spread wide and a beer in his one hand. The other is resting at the very top of his thigh, his fingertips barely grazing the soft bulge in his trousers. I feel the heat rising in me, my cheeks are burning. I close my eyes for a moment, then look at Magnus. He’s staring at Even, his jaw hanging slack, for once he’s not making a sound. Jonas shakes his head, gives Even a lazy high five. I grab my beer. Chill, everything’s chill.


	11. WWJD

** WWJD **

  
  


**20:25 ISAK**

 

Magnus has barely said a word for the past two hours. Neither have I. The mood is broken. Mahdi and Magnus have collected more wood for the fire, used a lot of time rooting around on the slope to find the right size pieces. Even has found some old cushions in the boathouse and scattered them on the rock. He sat beside me for a bit, ruffled the hair at the nape of my neck, kissed me on the cheek. He’s thankfully not said much either, nothing about Magnus or the fact that I’m sitting rigid and silent and glaring at the water, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Now he’s back in his chair, chatting with Jonas. I’m restless, irritated, ill at ease. Magnus’s questions, his aggressive, demanding tone. Though it’s harmless enough, it fills me with the recognition that I will never entirely be like them. That there will always be something different enough that someone will ask something, that it will be necessary to explain.

  
  


I skim through the photos on my phone, look at one of Sana and Even taken on my birthday. Think about something Even often says: Sana knows. I open Messenger, hastily type in some peevish words.

  
  


[That shitty advice I gave you, did it work? Don’t stop answering stupid questions, absolutely shitty advice.]  
[Sorry]

  
  


Sana replies immediately:  
[Sick of the guys already?]  
[Works better than being angry. WWJD]

  
  


What the fuck does he have to do with it? But I see her point. He didn’t walk around seething with rage all day, that much I get.

  
  


Magnus and Mahdi come back giggling after pissing behind the boathouse. Mahdi is holding Jonas’s grey backpack in his hand. He’s waving it about, looking at the three of us sitting round the bonfire while he’s speaking. “I think we need to chill a bit more this evening. There’s a certain someone who needs to relax a bit more.” I assume it’s me he’s talking about. I don’t take my eyes off the fjord, nod once, purse my lips sourly. Can’t they just leave me in peace for fuck’s sake? 

  
  


I hear the backpack being unzipped and the crinkling of plastic bags as they dig around. My guess is the hard liquor’s coming out, but it’s not the right night for me at all.  
“Wow! Hey! Cool!” It’s Even. He sounds surprised and happy, his voice makes me turn and look at him. He’s smiling that wide, wonderful smile that turns his eyes into small, sparkling, blue half-moons. Even’s smile is so full of everything I love about him, it makes me drop my shoulders, makes me smile, too. But it’s not me he’s looking at. He’s looking past me, over my shoulder, I twist my body to see what’s surprised my boyfriend. Mahdi is holding a little transparent plastic bag in his hand, a quarter full of something dry and green. “And it ain’t oregano, baby,” as Eskild might say.

  
  


I turn back to Even and Jonas, my smile has vanished. Even is avoiding my gaze, his eyes are all over the place, and I understand why. The only things we actually argue about are trivial, everyday things like who’s going to take the clothes out of the washing machine, how often the sheets need to be changed, that the Bremykt margarine should be put in the fridge, not left out on the kitchen counter. But precisely this is a topic of conflict. Something that has caused us to hurl angry words, or mostly Even hurling angry words at me.  _“Do you want me to think of Sonja when I look at you?” “What happened with me taking responsibility for myself?” “Are you going to take care of me now, know what’s good for me better than I do?”_

  
  


I’ve been equally angered by Even, but I can’t seem to respond when I stand there in front of him, watching how the limitations his illness places on him bind him like a straitjacket. Then I want to take back the things I’ve said, the things that have worked Even up and made him shout at me:  _“Perhaps you shouldn’t smoke weed anymore.” “It’s not worth it if it makes you sick.” “I don’t need to smoke either, it’s no stress.”_

  
  


I stand there silently and just take it while my replies rocket around silently inside me. Nothing new there really, but it’s not usually like that with Even.  _“Think about Sonja as much as you like, don’t you understand that I only want you to stay healthy?” “You’re not taking responsibility for yourself when you do things that can escalate into mania. You’re not taking responsibility for us.” “Yes, I’m going to bloody well take care of you, I’m going to take care of you as long as I live, aren’t you going to take care of me, too?”_

  
  


And I understand. I also want to sit in the windowsill with Even and smoke, giggle and talk about music and weird films and what we’re going to be doing together 40 years from now. The most buzzing and breathless memories I have of my first meetings with Even revolve around a joint. It was a reason to follow him, to come closer, an excuse for light, quick touches, skin against skin. But I would give it up forever with great pleasure if it could spare us for some of the harrowing shit that it can leave in its wake. Even has already had to make so many changes. This is perhaps the one thing that is too much. The buckle on the back of the straitjacket. He doesn’t see it himself, but it is he who is turning me into Sonja by forcing me to be the one to tighten the buckle.

  
  


“Um. Weren’t we going to drop that? On this trip?” I look from Mahdi to Magnus to Jonas, lock my eyes on theirs, one after another. This was the one thing we talked about beforehand. We don’t need to smoke weed on our trip to the cabin. It’s not nice to smoke it in front of Even. He’s had to quit. He would love to smoke, but he shouldn’t.   
I’d expected some embarrassed fluttering of eyelids, some poor excuses, “Oh shit. Sorry. Yeah, we forgot.” But they’re already tipsy, we all are. They toe at the stones on the beach, shrug their shoulders, laugh. “It’s just some green, Jesus, not big-time dope. It’s fun, man, would be good for you to chill a bit too, Isak!” They speak in one voice, a seamless flow of words between them. Mahdi, Magnus, Jonas. Egotistical. So fucking egotistical.

  
  


“Is it okay for you, Even? Is it okay if we take a few puffs?” Jonas is asking, and it feels like a sharp stab to the gut. Doesn’t he understand anything?  
“Uh, yeah, sure. Of course!” Even is still smiling, but I recognise that smile as well. Just as wide and open, but with dull eyes, no spark, no depth. He’s moving his lips, forming the start of a sentence. Is it “Say some…”? A soundless attempt to start up again, move on?   
“Us two.” He’s standing next to me, wraps his arm around me. His words are hushed, nearly a whisper. “Us two, Isak. It doesn’t need to be us two right now. I’ll go up to the cabin for a bit. Watch a film or something.” He wraps his other arm around me, pulls me to him. I hold him close, my arms crossed around his narrow back.  
“I’m coming.” I state it quietly against Even’s ear. I’m not asking.  
“No, Isak. Stay. None of that being considerate crap. I want you to stay. You should smoke a little. He extricates himself from our hug, raises his hand to the others in farewell and says, “Going to go up to the cabin for a bit. Have to go to the loo. Or something.”

  
  


I’m the only one who watches Even as he walks up the path towards the road. He doesn’t turn his head, doesn’t look back, but walks like a man on a mission with long strides, continues on to the stairs leading up to the cabin.

  
  


“Do you want some?” asks Jonas, extending the joint to me. I shake my head no, my jaw tightening as I grit my teeth.  
“Isak’s just pissed off. Jesus Isak, why are you so pissed off now?” Magnus is at me again, gives me a nudge. It’s a light touch, but it feels like a blow.

.

“You promised we weren’t going to smoke weed!” I shout, not giving two shits. The others continue to smirk, unperturbed, inconsiderate. “Don’t you understand that our sitting here and lighting up sucks for Even? Don’t you understand that it fucking sucks because he’d like to be sitting here too?” The words just come and I spit them out.

  
  


“He said it was fine though.” Jonas rolls his eyes lightly, smiles a provoking ‘whatever’ smile. He clearly doesn’t get my point.  
“Why can’t he smoke weed?” Magnus turns his head quickly towards me, again with the big questioning eyes.  
“It’s not good for his illness. Smoking weed can accelerate a manic episode. And he can’t manage to smoke a little just one time because he really wants to smoke more often, like he did before. It doesn’t work.”  
I’ve explained this before, but not like I’m doing now. I’m speaking rapidly and angrily, firing out the facts in short bursts.

  
  


“A manic episode can’t be that bad, huh? I mean it passes and can even be kinda comical. All is good in the end.”  
Is Magnus trying to help? I don’t know. But I know that what he’s saying isn’t true. It doesn’t pass and no, all is not good in the end. It shouldn’t happen more often than it has to – Even can’t take it, and neither can I. It’s not a funny clip in a film we’re talking about, it’s mine and Even’s life, the one we live together. Balancing on a tightrope between good and bad. Pompous, but true.

  
  


“Even seems a little far out today anyway,” says Mahdi taking a drag and chuckling. “Fuck man, he offered Magnus the chance to go down on him! And you’re okay with that Isak, I would never have believed that!”

  
  


The blood rises to my head so quickly that my sight goes black. There’s a rushing in my ears, bubbles of rage fill my veins, blocking my thoughts. I get up quickly, my thighs are quaking, I’m unsteady and feel like hitting something. I clench my fists, release them. My body is tense with aggression and rage. WWJD. Stand up for Even. Stand up for himself.

  
  


“Do you guys really believe that? Are you fucking sick in the head? There is no dimension in which Even would even come close to your dick, Magnus. None whatsoever.” I burst into tears as I’m shouting, I don’t know whether it’s in anger or in grief. We’re standing on the same beach, with the same stones under our feet, but for what it’s worth we could be standing on our separate stars in the universe. The distance between myself and those three who are supposed to be my closest friends is too vast. Too vast for the words they’re mumbling to reach me. “We couldn’t know that.” “Perhaps it’s different when you’re gay.” “He said it after all.” “It was a joke, fucking hell, I said it was a joke.” “It looked a bit like he meant it.”  
Words upon words, some low, others louder.

 


	12. Can I lie down on you?

**21:45 EVEN**

I’m lying on the sofa in the sitting room, stretched out on the rough green wool upholstery. There’s a small TV next to the small refrigerator, a 20-inch holdover from the turn of the century, nearly as old as I am. It was probably expensive and fancy at the time, with a built-in DVD player under the screen. Something, probably a mouse, has gnawed off the rubber on several of the buttons on the remote control, they feel softly jagged under my fingertip. I did not, of course, take any DVDs with me on the trip, but I feel a strange attraction to this outdated apparatus, I’d like to watch a film on the tiny screen. I’ve chosen a film from the small stack on the shelf under the TV. I’m watching  _Wild Things_ , quietly impressed by Isak’s grandmother’s taste in films. If Isak and the boys stay down by the sea for a while, I can choose between  _The Sting_ ,  _Fargo_ and  _Zoolander_ to watch afterwards. Not exactly thrilling, but it’s just fine.

 

Isak’s right. I shouldn’t smoke weed. We’ve argued about this many times, humiliating sessions where I angrily accuse Isak of wanting to control me. It is myself I am angry at, not Isak. I get so discouraged and enraged knowing that I can’t manage to handle something as innocent as a moderate amount of pot smoking, a part of me still thinks that it should be okay once in a while. I know Isak is scared that it will make me ill, I’m scared of that, too, but the topic makes me see red and my ability to reason sensibly flies out the window. I just want to be able to choose what I want to do, like I did before, without having to give consideration to illness and diagnoses.

 

In a way it hurts me that Isak has to take on the role of the voice of reason, that he has to stand in front of me speaking in the voice of Mamma, of Sonja, of my psychologist. It was a joint that helped bring Isak and me together, it seems like he’s forgot that. To be able to relive those moments, the almost unbearable tension, the feeling of being invincible, the moment when your heart stops and your breathing stills, the second before you take the riskiest chance of your life.

 

I lose myself in the memories. It’s bittersweet. I smile, press my cheek against the embroidered sofa cushion. All the risky first chances that we will never take again, Isak and I. The very first feathery touch of our fingers, entirely accidental, only a short brushstroke. So the more reckless and clearly intentional placement of my two fingers in his palm, our hands side by side on the sofa. Still an opportunity for a hasty retreat. “Oh, sorry, did I bump into you?” When our bodies imperceptibly gravitated, at a millimetre pace, towards each other on that bench, moving an insignificant speck of dust at a time. Two sets of staring eyes meeting across the dancefloor, boring into each other; is he seeing all the way down to my soul? There’s a rasping and twisting in a spot right over my stomach, right under my heart; does my gaze feel like that to him? The megalomania, the overwhelming feeling of being able to conquer the world, pluck the stars from the sky, carry the whole universe in my hands, all because of a thing happening right now, between me and that boy. Is he feeling me too? Am I filling his breath, his hope, am I that small jittery, quivering spring in his chest? Can I risk it? Can I take the chance of hoping it’s true? Small, yet formidable memories I’d like to sit in the windowsill and recall, together with Isak, over that joint.

 

Isak’s right. Nothing is worth the risk. I should try to get the passive-aggressive version of myself to understand this. That quarrelsome guy who shows up when the people round me become too sensible, too concerned with what’s best for me. That hateful boyfriend who shouts at Isak, when all Isak is trying to do is show me that he feels me. That I’m bouncing and vibrating in his chest, wanted and loved despite painful barbs and desperate worries. Isak. I hope he can go the distance with me. That the spring doesn’t break.

 

I turn off the sound on the TV when I hear the outer door slam, expecting all of the guys to have returned. Perhaps it’s not so strange that they’re coming back early, the atmosphere wasn’t exactly what it should have been when I left. I hope Isak has managed to get out of the negative spiral he’s caught himself up in, but I have my doubts. Isak is a thinker. When there are too many thoughts he shuts down. Withdraws, becomes silent and watchful. I think I saw that side of him this evening, staring out over the water, no comments, no smiles. He’s only exploded a few times, releasing all that is destructive, roaring accusations, letting his angry tears and flying arms take control. But always for trivialities, the small straws that broke the camel’s back. We’ve always been able to laugh about it afterwards, both glad to be able to pretend that larger things are not lurking and gnawing away at us. I’m always so afraid that it’s me. That all the considerations and worries are gnawing holes into Isak.

 

Isak first opens the door to our bedroom, probably checking to see if I’m in bed. I hear him walk quickly down the hall, his footsteps stop in the middle of the sitting room floor. “Why are you lying here”? He looks angry, he’s gritting his teeth, I see the tense jaw muscle on the side of his cheek.

 

“Watching a film. On this awesome little mini TV.” I nod towards the television. Isak barely casts a glance at it. He remains standing in the middle of the floor, clearly irritated and ill at ease.  
“Hey. Isak. Fuck all Magnus’s badgering. Don’t let it get to you like that.” I extend my arm, stretch out my fingers, but still can’t reach Isak’s tense fists. To be honest, I tune out when Magnus begins his nagging. It would be fine by me to just answer him, give him all the 

information he’s clearly pining for, preferably in embarrassingly technical detail. The only thing stopping me is that Magnus would tell Isak. I couldn’t give two shits about the situations Magnus is envisioning me in, but the thought that he could envision Isak’s body in all the colourful, sexual display he’s clearly daydreaming about is revolting. Isak should feel free and loved within our private framework, and he can bloody well be sure that I would never break the trust he places in me. No kiss and tell here.

 

“It’s not just that. It’s the smoking. They don’t give a shit about anyone but themselves!” Isak is talking harshly and angrily. “I’m so fucking sorry that I brought you along on a trip to a cabin with those idiots.”  
“You. Come here. Come here, Isak.” I stretch out both my arms now. Isak comes over to the sofa, lets me take both his hands in mine, lets me pull him down to me. I agree and I disagree, I don’t know what I think. I understand that they can’t understand, that they can’t fathom the scope of what it’s like to be me. I wish so much that Isak, too, could be just as innocent.

 

“Can I lie down on you?” Now his voice is just tired and small, he seems happy to have found a way out of his foul mood.  
“Yes, you can.” I wrap both my arms around him, bury my nose and mouth in his soft curls, kiss the top of his head.

 

“What are you watching?” He glances over at the film, has to lift his head a bit to see the screen.  
“ _Wild Things_. Cool thriller. It’s your granny’s.”  
“Okay.” He lays his head on my chest again, breathes out. “Even. That fucking idiot, Mahdi. He thought you were seriously suggesting it. That you would let Magnus go down on you.”  
I can’t help laughing, it comes out like a half-choked giggle, a snort as I shake my head from side to side. “You’re joking? Did you think so, too?” I feel compelled to ask.  
Isak lowers his face to mine, he’s actually smiling. “Duh. No.”  
I smile back. It’s big and genuine and starts at the bottom of my stomach, that smile. I kiss Isak on the nose.

 

We turn back to the film. Suzie and Kelly are in a pool. They’re both topless, they’re embracing and kissing. Kelly’s large breasts are round and visible in Suzie’s hands. Ray Duquette is in the background, filming it all with his video camera. Collecting evidence. Isak looks up at me again, with questioning eyes. “Even. What ARE we watching?”  
“I told you. It’s a thriller. Watch Suzie now, she….”  
“Seriously, Even. I’m supposed to watch two naked chicks while a dude is watching them?” He laughs teasingly, wrinkles his forehead, pokes me in the side with his index finger. It seems like his mood has lifted somewhat.  
“Isak, blame your granny. It’s her film.” I release my hold on him, throw my arms out. We tumble around on the sofa a bit. Isak’s tickling me, I wrap my arms around him tightly, trying to stop him. The film continues on in the background, I’m still watching with half an eye. The pool scene is enticing, it reminds me of the first time Isak and I kissed.   
Isak sits up and straddles my lap, looks down at me. “Even, let’s go and take a swim!”  
I agree. We should ignore the world and go for a swim.

 


	13. Otherwise it’s not an epic love story

**SUNDAY, 2 JULY 2017  
23:23 EVEN **

The water is ice-cold. I’ve barely a chance to regret my actions during the tenth of a second it takes from when my feet pierce the surface until I’m completely immersed in the dark, wet fjord. I straighten out my body in an instinctive convulsion and kick upwards, freeing myself from the water. My head breaks the surface. I want to fill my lungs with the crisp night air, but I’ve lost my breath. I open my mouth, gasp and hear a loud “gaaaah!” ripping from my chest. Fuckfuckfuck, it’s so bloody cold! I bob up and down in the water, smooth my wet hair back, away from my forehead.

  
  


Isak is standing on the dark wooden dock, barefoot and wearing only swim trunks. Although I’m submerged in ice water up to my neck, I take a couple seconds’ timeout to admire his naked shoulders. Isak’s muscular silhouette surprised me the first time I saw him naked, the strong and sensual shape of his shoulders and upper arms made my eyes pop with a little “oy”. Dressed in a cap and T-shirt, Isak is a boy, a teenager. Naked, he’s a man. Now he’s standing there freezing, crossing his well-defined arms across his chest, shuddering. “I don’t know, dude. It looks cold out there. Is it cold, Even?” He scrunches his nose, which lifts his upper lip a bit to reveal the little gap between his front teeth. Just one of the millions of adorable things about Isak. Just as adorably sweet as the wuss he’s being now, looking sceptically at the water, at me.  
“It’s not cold! Didn’t you hear what Kåre said? It’s not cold when it’s high tide!” I’m banking on Isak not having a firm grip on high tide and low tide. When he casts a glance at the five metres of seaweed and bare stone at the water’s edge before nodding in agreement, I have to turn around in the water and act like I’m looking out over the fjord. My smile is too big for him to see, my master of tides. Isak grabs the big pink beach towel.  
“No, Even. I don’t know. I, uh, get like a cramp when the water is too cold.”

  
  


The pink towel was the only thing Isak managed to take with him. He was so geared up to swim that he was tripping with impatience in the hall in his swim trunks and T-shirt, while I packed some stuff that I thought would be fitting for a midnight swim: a couple of cans of beer, the plaid woollen blanket from the sofa, the rest of the pick and mix in a crumpled paper bag from the kitchen drawer. The blanket was too big to stuff into my backpack, so I put it into a large, woven straw beach bag I found in our room. “Awesome handbag,” commented Isak, before taking my hand and leading me down to the beach, walking two steps in front of me the entire way. I love it when Isak takes my hand. When his hand is on top of mine, when he’s the protector, wrapping his fingers gently but firmly around my fist.

  
  


We’re all the way down by the fjord, but there are a couple of hundred metres separating us from the bonfire, the boathouse and the boys. A couple of hundred metres of sloping, craggy rock and scrub. Towering colonies of mugwort and fireweed. We can hear the boys hollering and laughing, talking in loud voices, Jonas playing the guitar he found in the cabin, interspersed with long snatches of quiet song. We don’t miss them either.

  
  


The dock Isak is standing on juts into the water, an extension of a small boathouse, which, from the look of the furnishings, seems like it’s used as a kind of covered veranda. There’s an old sofa with deep, soft cushions, a flowered thermos and a stack of  _Bergens Tidende_ newspapers on the floor. I don’t know whether it belongs to our cluster of cabins, but given the hour it’s probably safe to use it. The beach curves inwards for about twenty metres or so before it hits the small boathouse, so even though it is theoretically possible for Jonas and the others to get a glimpse of us if they really try, we’re not in their line of sight and it’s quite dark out already. A little physical distance from them feels good right now. I’m not angry at them, but there’s something lurking there, something we should probably address.

  
  


“I promise to save you if you get a cramp!” I lay back, stretch out my legs, bob in the water while trying to tempt Isak. The water feels warmer now, or to be honest, I barely feel anything anymore. It’s like my body is trying to protect me from myself.  
“Come on! It’s actually kinda warm. Right where I am now, there’s a sort of pocket of warm water right here. The Gulf Stream or something.” I figure that if the water and I are not enough to tempt him, perhaps playing to the cocky science geek will. I’ll gladly play a blonde bimbo for Isak. He may not be the master of high and low tide, but he’s absorbed some theoretical knowledge on the climate in science class.  
“Yo, Even. The Gulf Stream means that there’s no Arctic climate here, not that it runs into this fjord and makes pockets of warm spa water for you. Duh.” It seems to be working. Isak continues to talk about currents and how meltwater from the surrounding waterfalls can actually make cold pockets in the sea. It seems like he’s forgetting to freeze while he’s being all pedantic.  
“Come out here to me, already. It’s warmer, I promise, you have to check it out.”  
Isak stops talking, rubs his upper arms with his hands, dragging things out. “I don’t know, dude.”  
I’m forced to play the last card in my hand. “Well, it’s probably for the best. You wouldn’t be able to jump off the dock and all the way out to me anyway.”  
It works. Isak nods determinedly, a ‘game on’ nod that I know very well, and he runs down the dock and leaps into the water and towards me. He throws the towel back over his shoulder as he runs. Competitiveness vs. Even, 0-1.

  
  


The spray from Isak’s splash hits me in the face, even though I’m nearly two metres away from him. Unbelievably, it sounds like he’s beginning to whimper before he’s even got his head above water. The whimper turns into a whining howl as soon as the air hits his face. A string of profanities peppering his wail, “Fuck Jesus bloody hell so bloody cold you fucking tricked me Even you’re a dead man now it’s so bloody motherfucking cold.” He gasps for air, rubs his eyes with his hands. I swim the two strokes to him, wrap my arms around him but can’t help laughing. Isak leans against my shoulders and quickly pushes me under. He throws himself at me when I resurface snorting and choking. Laughing underwater was not such a brilliant idea. I’m coughing up saltwater, with Isak hanging around my neck, his well-toned footballer’s legs gripping my waist. It’s like dancing, playing in a bouncy castle, only with tonnes of ice cubes surrounding us. We float on our backs, looking up at the dark sky. Float like two small dots in a 200-kilometre-long fjord, hand in hand. Isak pulls on my arm, slides into an upright position. His lips are blue, his teeth are chattering quietly, uncontrollably. “Weren’t you going to warm me up, Even?”

  
  


We race back down the dock and into the small boathouse on the beach. The wide door is held open against the outside wall with a hook. I had put the beach bag next to the sofa. Now I quickly rummage through it and take out the towels, throwing one to Isak. He’s shivering, with purply-blue lips. But instead of drying his own cold body, he walks the few steps to me and drapes the towel around my shoulders. The yellow terry towelling covers my back, ending at mid-thigh. Isak rubs the thin, worn-out fabric against my skin, covering my torso and arms with rhythmic, hard strokes, until I begin to feel red and warm under the towel.  
“I thought I was supposed to be warming _you_ up.” I’m surprised, suddenly feel so looked after, enveloped in his care. As if he were walking a tiny step in front of me and had managed to catch me in his arms before I was able to grab on to him.  
“You looked like you needed a Valtersen special.” Isak winks at me. Before I can even crack a joke about how I thought a Valtersen special was something else, Isak has turned and picked up the other towel. He dries himself quickly and briskly, facing towards the open door. His blue swim trunks lie twisted and inside-out on the ground.

  
  


I take off my own wet swim trunks, get the woollen blanket out of the beach bag and drape it around my shoulders. It’s fucking cold. We shouldn’t have been in the water that long. I sit down on the sofa, my back against one of the armrests and my legs stretched out in front of me. There’s a small CD player on a low table next to the armrest behind me. I twist around and turn it on. There’s something about that old, forgotten technology that piques my curiosity. Who’s been sitting here with their newspaper and coffee? What do they like to listen to? The music flowing out of the tiny loudspeakers is new to me, and is clearly not contemporary. There’s something exotic and old-fashioned about the sound of the instruments and the woman’s voice. I like it. Isak probably hates it.

  
  


“Are you freezing, Isak?” I open the blanket wide, inviting Isak into my arms.  
“You look like a flasher, man!” Isak’s standing in front of me, the wet towel drooping in his hand.  
I can’t resist teasing him. I wink. “Was the water cold or something? For Valtersen junior?” I nod towards his crotch.  
“Oh shut up!” Isak snaps the towel at me, before striding over to the sofa and straddling my lap. I shrink at the touch of his cold skin against mine.  
“Come under my flasher’s raincoat, my dear.” The blanket is big. I drape it around Isak’s back and grasp it in my fists so I can yank him to me in a tight hug. Isak places his forehead against mine, breathing in sharply, abruptly. His reaction makes me gasp for breath myself, I feel so small, so fragile. It’s as if it can’t be true, that I’m sitting here in some unknown person’s sofa, listening to some unknown person’s music, stealing his view, totally exposed and naked, with nothing to hide behind. I’m just Even, stripped bare of all the things that otherwise show who I am or who I’m pretending to be. And yet, he’s here. Isak. I’m offering him just Even, and yet here he is, naked in my lap, his forehead against my face, the most beautiful tiny sound escaping his mouth.

  
  


Isak tilts his head to the side, lays both hands on my jaw, his fingers on the side of my throat. He’s moving them with microscopic movements, a shower of tiny pinpricks. He kisses me gently, tenderly. His lips are pliant, his tongue soft against mine. He’s propped up on his knees as much as he’s sitting on my lap, tensing the muscles in his thighs and ass, lifting himself a few centimetres up and down at a pace with his kisses. I close my eyes, let myself glide and float with his caresses. Understand that Isak must have known better than I did that this is precisely what I need right now. I need to feel how Isak enfolds me, hovers over me, surrounds me, a physical confirmation of what I already know: that Isak is here. He leaves kisses along my jawbone, whispering with a kiss in my ear, “That song, huh?”   
I don’t know what he means, stare at him blankly, lean forward to kiss him back.  
“Even, that song. Listen.”   
The woman with the funny voice is still singing, an old-fashion rustling coming from the CD player.

  
  


_There's something groovy and good ’bout whatever we’ve got. And it’s getting better growing stronger warm and wilder getting better every day. Holding you at night just seems kind of natural and right and it’s not hard to see that it isn't half of what it’s going to turn out to be._

It’s such an everyday song, toned down and ordinary. None of the dramatics I would expect at such a moment. I don’t see stars, don’t hear stanzas from epic poems. What I see is Isak’s face: dark, dilated pupils, heavy-lidded eyes, a tiny curl of a smile showing that he sees and feels some of what I do. He gives himself to me and he receives me in return, that in truth is all he does and is. I feel his skin against mine; we have no secrets, we don’t need them, even though the truth is ugly at times. Our truth is also beautiful. I whisper it into the room, it hits his ears, and mine as well, before being flung out the door and into eternity, “Isak, I love you.” 

  
  


It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. Isak looks at me, his green eyes hold so much. Happiness, pain, tears, laughter, anger. Mostly love. He strokes his thumb over my eyebrow, his hand embracing my cheek. He says with a small, nearly dissipated breath, “I love you.” Although his voice is so soft, it mixes with mine and echoes between the mountains behind him. It’s not perfect, everything that happened today, but this is perfect. We are perfect.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter actually turned out much different than planned. I envisioned swimming and hot stuff. It was pretty much all thought out and just needed to be written down. But Isak and Even were not having it. So this is what it became. There are two homages here: one to the Norwegian singer Cezinando and his song “Vi er perfekt men verden er ikke det” [We are perfect, but the world is not], the other to the marvellous Cass Elliot and her song “It’s Getting Better”. I won’t lie, that song was played during my wedding ceremony seven years ago. It’s epic in its own way.


	14. A heart attack would be a bummer

MONDAY, 3 JULY 2017  
01:42 EVEN 

We’re walking hand-in-hand up the slope. It’s too dark to see the path and we’re trying to stealthily make our way up to the cabin. We cover only a few metres at a time: we’re too happy, too high on ourselves. I stop, pull Isak to me, kiss him. We go a few steps further, slow down, look at each other and giggle. Ten more steps and Isak wraps his arm around my waist, leans against me and kisses my neck. I turn to him, pepper his lips with tiny kisses.

“Kåre ought to have a hot tub here, man,” I say mid-way in a kiss.  
“We are going to have a hot tub here. When we’re around 40,” Isak replies, returning my kiss, sucking lightly on my lower lip. “It would be like a bummer to have a heart attack in the cold water.”   
I stop, pull my head back, raise my eyebrows. “You mean we’re coming back here? When we’re 40?”  
“Yeah?” Isak also pulls back a little, looks at me. “You and me. Wrinkled and old. Sitting in our hot tub, watching the harbour porpoises.”  
“Isak.” I cover his face with soft small kisses while I speak. “That’s a hashtag. #When you’re sitting in a hot tub with the man of your dreams and watching harbour porpoises.”


	15. take.it.back.isak.take.it.back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the thanks in the world to QueenSylvana. I am so happy that you are translating my story so beautifully <3

**09:28 ISAK**

Even is lying on his side, curled up in a giant G, his naked back is facing me. He’s breathing quietly, evenly. My arm is draped across his torso, and he’s kneading my hand against his chest in his sleep. I carefully rub my nose and mouth against the lightly tanned skin between his shoulder blades a couple of times. He hasn’t swum or soaked up the sun enough this summer. There’s been too much school, too much work, too many afternoons when we’ve preferred to stay home, just us two. Watching films, playing FIFA, lying on the bed and talking about all those little things no one else knows about.  


I breathe in and out deeply and slowly a couple of times, trying to rid myself of that uneasy feeling that’s very quietly taking root in my stomach. I don’t like that Even is still sleeping, that I woke up first. It almost never happens, and when it has, it generally hasn’t been a good thing. Even is always awake first. I find him either on his phone, in the shower or in the kitchen, sometimes lingering in bed next to me. He’s there with his words, kisses, hands when I wake up. The way Even is now, curled up sleeping, closed, silent – I associate this with those unbearable days that must be taken hour by hour, minute by minute. Those days when Even sleeps, even when he is awake. That association is so strong that I can’t control it, even now. Even though I know that Even fell asleep happy in my arms. Even though I know that he sang softly in my ear as we both drifted off:

_In your dreams whatever they be, dream a little dream of me._

I breathe in deeply again, drawing the air in through my nose, releasing it slowly through my open mouth. I close my eyes and visualise what I feel growing in my stomach, my fear. Today it’s an image of Even, awake, but sleeping, with blank staring eyes, his head on our blue pillow. His hair needs washing, his face is pale, his mouth won’t smile and would prefer not to speak either. I breathe in through my nose, grab hold of the image that’s lurking behind my eyelids, shove it upwards, away. Shove it until all I can see is the a tiny corner of our striped duvet cover. Then I slowly release my breath through my mouth.   


It helps. Tove taught me that, a psychologist trick, at one of the first appointments I was forced to attend. It was one of the prerequisites of us moving in together, one of the things that Even’s mother was very concerned with presenting as a good idea. Sometimes I go with Even, every once in a while alone. All paid for by Even’s parents, just like our rent. And it helps. My hooks, Even’s lists. They keep us prepared, enable us to not have to think about it all the time. It’s enough to know it passively: there will be unbearable days.  


Even moves, stretches his long body. He lets go of my hand, turns towards me. “Hi. You’re awake.” His voice is quiet, heavy with sleep. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, that safe place which is mine and only mine. I sniff Even, the smell of sleep. Press myself against him and feel our hearts beating in time, morning slow. The last sliver of the blue-striped duvet cover disappears on its own, I don’t have to push it away.

 

“Isak, what you said yesterday? About the hot tub?” Even is mumbling in my ear. I stiffen involuntarily, regretting speaking flippantly about the future.  
“Yeah, no, just forget it. I didn’t mean it like that. I just, yeah, a hot tub would be awesome.” I’m babbling, stuttering out incomplete sentences. I don’t want to stress Even out with my childish visions of us 20 years from now. On the contrary, we should be thinking about the present. Keeping things manageable.   


Even pushes me away a bit, my head is on the pillow and I can see that he’s smiling. His voice is still a bit sleepy. “Remember that time at home? When you were bothering me and I just wanted to sleep?”  
“Hey, you were the one who wanted me to go to bed with you!” I let myself get wound up, am ready to be teased, a small sacrifice for moving the conversation onto safer ground, away from my immature wish to fix something in cement in a future which no one even knows will exist.  
“Don’t you remember what we agreed on? That you were going to be my husband?” Even places his hand on my shoulder, gives me a little shove, smiling. His gaze is firm and steady, he’s looking straight into my eyes. “So you have to take it back. That you didn’t mean it like that.” He stretches his head forward, captures my bottom lip between his lips and gives it a toothless bite, “take.it.back.isak.take.it.back.”   


And I do remember that evening. The same embarrassment of having put my foot in my mouth, the same relief that it was all due to my own misunderstandings and over-cautious thoughts. A well of light, hopeful thoughts for the future, no pain, no demands. Perhaps it’s childish, but it arises by itself: the desire that what we have will last forever. And the fact that Even feels the same way makes me grin up at him and say what he wants to hear, what I want to say. “I take it back. I take it back. We’re going to have a hot tub.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things got a bit serious this morning, but Isak and Even have to live with a very serious thing. This chapter was not part of my storyline, but since I gave in to temptation and wrote that silly little chapter about the hot tub, this chapter came to me on a platter. Writing is a fluid thing :) As always, I am moved and gladdened by the things you fantastic readers write to me. Thank you <3


	16. Is that what you call yourself? – Flashback to May 2017

**Saturday, 20 May 2017  
00:06 **

Isak and Even are lying in bed at home. They’re lying on their sides, facing each other. Even is sleepy and has pulled his half of the duvet up to his chin, is lying there with narrowed eyes, squinting at Isak. Isak is awake. He runs his hand through Even’s hair, lets his fingers follow the shape of Even’s eyebrows, jawbone, lips.

“Do you think you’ll ever get sick of me?”

Even doesn’t answer. He just grunts. 

“Even?” Isak places tiny, light kisses on Even’s face. Kisses his forehead, eyes, chin, cheeks, nose. Even answers before Isak reaches his lips.  
“Maybe a little. If you don’t fall asleep soon.”

Isak smiles and kisses Even softly on the mouth. “Hey, you were the one who wanted me to go to bed with you!”

“I’d forgot how young and childish you are.” Even nods his head, nudges Isak’s face with his own.

“What? Now you’re insulting your husband as well?” Isak tickles Even’s torso carefully.

Even stretches a little, yawns. “My husband? Is that what you call yourself?”

Isak blushes lightly. “Yeah, or no, not your husband like that, but….” 

Even pulls Isak to him, interrupts him. “I like it. You will be my husband one day.”  
Isak looks solemn. In a small voice he whispers slightly breathlessly, “Seriously? You think so?” 

Even holds him close; he, too, looks solemn. “I know so. It is one of my dreams.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a flashback to May 2017 and the conversation Even refers to in the previous chapter.  
> This text was written in May and published as a little mini-scene on Facebook. And now I’ve given in to temptation and published it here :)


	17. We’ll just do your thing, Mahdi

**12:44 EVEN**

 

“No. Fuck it. This isn’t working.”  


I agree with Jonas. This isn’t working. Nothing that has been said or done since I convinced Isak to leave the bedroom and deal with the fact that we’re still on a guys’ trip to the cabin is working.   


_Can’t we just lay here forever, Even?_ No, we can’t.   


Isak stubbornly insists that everything’s okay, but everything he does is passive-aggressive. “No thanks, I won’t have any of the scrambled eggs you made, Mahdi.” A hard slam of the cutlery drawer, a rough jerk of the wooden kitchen chair. “It’s all the same to me, or, I think I’ll just hang out here with Even.” No eye contact, exaggerated interest in a newspaper from last summer.    
  


_I don’t want to talk about it again. I don’t know what to say to them._ Isak, can’t you just tell them the truth? That you were hurt by the things they did.   


Magnus is desperately trying to provide comic relief, but even he can hear that his crude jokes are not appropriate today, especially not today. He touches my arm lightly, but the right words never come. Mahdi has made breakfast: a pot of hot cocoa, a tower of waffles, brown cheese on the table along with the scrambled eggs that Isak won’t eat. Jonas has tried several times to say what someone has to say for this to blow over: we apologise, please forgive us, sorry for the stuff we did, we know we were blundering idiots – or something of the sort.    
  


_I don’t give a damn if they apologise if they don’t understand what the problem was!_ The problem is me. That they have to take me into consideration so often.  


“This isn’t working.”  
  
Jonas gets up from the sofa, walks to the little stool by the bookcase and grabs the guitar. “We’ll just do your thing, Mahdi.” He looks at Isak and at me, gives his head a barely noticeable shake, rolls his eyes under those bushy dark brows. “Sorry, guys. We’re clearly too embarrassed to actually be able to talk to you, so we’ll just follow Mahdi’s plan. Sit down you two.” He waves in the direction of the sofa, while he sits down in the small armchair, the one without armrests that looks like it could have come straight out of one of the first few seasons of _Mad Men_. He runs his fingertips over the strings, tunes the guitar a bit, begins to bob his head to the rhythm while he catches the eye of the other two boys. He looks more like the preacher in _Kimmie Schmidt_ than Don Draper, chair or no chair. Magnus is stomping his feet softly and waving his arms to the rhythm, while Mahdi is holding a matchbox in his hand and shaking it in time.  
  


What the hell is happening here? Isak looks like he’s expecting an amateur performance of  _The Animals of Hakkebakke Forest_ , a show on the psych ward – expectant, reserved, unwillingly curious. I’m watching him more than I’m watching the boys, unsure if he’s still angry or whether resignation has taken hold again.    
  


I don’t recognise the song. It’s just chords and disjointed, discordant lyrics; the singing is slurred and indistinct, none of the boys have the same timing. When Jonas begins to sing, he lifts his gaze and looks directly at Isak. I interpret it as a mollifying, conciliatory gesture. At first Isak seems to consider the song an insult: his face is twitching in irritation, his body is tense and he looks like he wants to get up off the sofa. But he stays seated. It’s difficult to know what he’s thinking. He’s still tense, his jaw set, a furrow above his nose, but he seems surprised. “Huh? That’s that….” The rest of the sentence trails off with an exhale. I can see his lips moving, but can’t understand what he’s saying. He’s not saying it to me at any rate. He’s looking at Jonas while he’s mumbling, and it actually seems like Jonas understands. He’s smiling a bit, nodding his head a lot, answering Isak’s gaze. He stops singing and mumbles instead, “Yeah, it’s that homo song. Sorry, Isak.”  


It's a strange choice of song, and I can’t make out most of the clumsily sung lyrics. But the bits the boys do manage to sing clearly sound nice.   


_I won't hesitate no more, no more, it cannot wait, open up your mind and see like me, open up your plans and damn you're free, it’s our God-forsaken right to be loved loved loved loved loved_

The boys stand there looking a little sheepish when the song ends. The performance is over, but the audience is not clapping – always a bad thing. I’m keeping quiet because I don’t understand what I’ve just witnessed. Was this an apology? An olive branch? The best that three nearly-grown men can muster after they’ve tracked dogshit into the house and understand they can’t just ignore the problem?    
  


“What was THAT?” Isak is back. Sassy, cheeky, extra Isak. He gets up off the sofa and walks over to the hangdog troubadours. He’s smiling and it actually looks genuine. “I…” He wants to say something. I don’t know if it’s another sarcastic comment, or whether we’re going to continue without talking about the elephant on the beach yesterday.   
Jonas interrupts him, holds up a placating hand. “It was pretty fucking stupid of us. Yesterday. Idiotic. Even.” He looks up at me, locks eyes with me across the room, like he did with Isak when he was singing. “Sorry. We don’t really understand everything, but we understand enough to know that we were idiots yesterday.”  
  


“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Perhaps it’s Isak who you should apologise to, though.” Again, what I’m saying is both true and untrue. It’s okay because I’m pretending that I don’t care. It’s not okay because I don’t want to be that person who everyone has to take into consideration.  


“And Isak. He accepts your apology and now he wants to eat waffles!” Isak takes a fake formal bow, giving a royal wave with his right hand as he bends forward. It’s the most genuine he can be at the moment, an emotionless gesture to stop him from letting loose the anger, sadness and disappointment amassed behind his breastbone. It’ll have to do. We can make it work. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Animals of Hakkebakkeskogen is a classic and much read Norwegian children's book.


	18. One kiss and 10 seconds – flashback to May 2017

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to May 2017

**SUNDAY, 21 May 2017  
20:49**

Isak is sitting in bed at home, leaning against the wall. He’s got his phone in his hand searching for a film. He hears the front door open; Even’s home.  
“Hi!” Even shouts from the hall while he takes off his shoes. “Did you find a film? I bought pick and mix!”

Isak looks towards the doorway, smiles when Even enters. “Hi! That took a while.”  
Even slips into bed next to Isak, kisses him quickly.

“Met Magnus, we chatted.” Even looks at Isak before leaning forward and kissing him again. This time it’s a long, deep, lingering kiss, with one hand cupping the back of Isak’s head, the other pressing into his lower back. Isak moans softly when Even releases him. Even is beaming, his eyes are gleaming. “That was one kiss and 10 seconds! And a pretty sexy moan. Cool.”  
Isak looks at him uncomprehendingly. “Huh?” 

“Nothing. Just a Magnus thing. Did you find a film or what?”  
Isak twitches, looks irritated. “A Magnus thing? Were you two talking about me?”  
Even chuckles. “Isak, relax! I don’t kiss and tell!”

Even opens the paper bag of pick and mix and offers it to Isak. “Mags was just wondering how he can know for sure whether Vilde loves him.”  
“So, can one know for sure?” Isak asks sulkily.  
“No, but I told him why I’m sure that you love me.” Even shrugs his shoulders, raises his eyebrows.

“Did you say that moaning thing? Seriously Even?” Isak’s cheeks are blushing and he sits up in bed.  
Even laughs. “No! That was Magnus’s theory. He was going to test it on Vilde. How long it takes before she moans when he kisses her!”  
“Okay. You’re idiots. Both of you.”

Isak pulls Even to him, wraps his arms around him from behind. They cuddle up at the corner of the bed, Even between Isak’s spread legs, his back resting on Isak’s chest. Isak’s hand finds Even’s. Isak strokes it with his fingertips, intertwines his fingers with Even’s. He runs his nose and mouth softly along the side of Even’s throat, breathing in Even’s scent. “What did you say then?”

“I said everything. Everything you do.”


	19. Pushed her off a cliff or anything

**16:01 ISAK**

I’ve never actually picked blueberries before. Mamma buys jam at the shop, always the same kind, Hervik organic. Red currant jelly, sometimes raspberry jam. Even buys Nora’s “homemade” with its red-and-white-checked lid and long explanation of why their adverts featuring apron-clad, kerchiefed old ladies making jam are deceptive marketing.

It’s Mahdi’s fault that we’re sitting in a blueberry patch high up on a hill. Mahdi’s and a little bit Kåre’s. Even got all excited when Mahdi suggested picking blueberries. The intention was that the two of them would go up the hill behind the cabin. Pick some berries, chat about bad zombie films and let us other three chill by the sea. It’s really warm today, tempting weather for swimming. The song they performed earlier has cleared the air, and a trip to the beach would be nice. But no. We’re sitting in the forest picking berries. Not me, to be honest. I’m just sitting here. We could have actually gone a couple of hundred metres up into the forest behind the cabin, but Even thought it would be best to ask Uncle Kåre. “I’m sure he knows where the best blueberry patches are. It would be dumb to go somewhere where there are wolverines or something.”

This is not exactly the place for wolverines, according to Kåre, but the valley we’re sitting in was the scene of a 400-year-old crime of passion. Of the four blueberry patches Kåre recommended, this was the only one which came with a story about a servant girl who coerced her brother-in-law into helping her drown the farmwife so she could have the farmer for herself. Even was engrossed by the story, came back with stars in his eyes and repeated all of Kåre’s details. “They tricked her into lying down by the river to look for some fish, trout or something, and then they pushed her in and held her under water. They were as old as us, you know, or as me, and she was totally obsessed with getting the farmer for herself! And they didn’t even get together in the end! She was beheaded! We have to go there, I want to see that river!” I can sympathise with the concept of doing whatever it takes to get the man of one’s dreams, but drowning his wife is perhaps taking it a step too far. A tad excessive.

If Even hadn’t broken up with Sonja, I would have probably dropped the whole thing, I think. At least I wouldn’t have pushed her off a cliff or anything. Maybe in my imagination, but not more than that. Sonja turned out to be better than I thought, even though Even is still irritated with her. I have an alright thing with her, actually talk to her once in a while when there are things about Even I don’t understand. It’s rather hard to admit, but it is Sonja who has helped me to believe that I can be an important support for Even when he’s not well. It’s bloody awful for me too when Even’s at rock bottom. Difficult to know what to do, if I should avoid doing something, if I could say something wrong inadvertently, if I could make things worse. It is meaningful to me that Sonja, who doesn’t exactly have much reason to love me, thinks it’s good thing that Even stays with me. She can still be irritating though, Sonja. Like when she said that she was actually a bit relieved that Even is with me now. That they had grown apart, but she didn’t think Even could manage without her, that she’d felt responsible for him. “Now he’s your responsibility, in a way, Isak, as long as you remain boyfriends.” Seriously, Sonja? As long as we remain boyfriends? Even and I, we will be together forever. Good when it’s good, bad when it’s bad.  
“Aren’t you going to use the mousetrap, Isak?” Jonas yells over to me. He’s sitting on his haunches picking berries with his fingers, dropping them into a large measuring jug that’s missing a handle.  
“Shut up!” I yell back, but I’m laughing. It’s fine. It’s ridiculous that I thought it was a mousetrap! It’s a blueberry picker, according to the others. How was I supposed to know? It was lying there on a shelf and looks like a little cage. I stand my ground. I still think you could also catch mice with it. I hold onto the handle at the top of the red square box and plough it quickly through the blueberry bush in front of me, trying to do what Mahdi showed me. The pointy metal cage gets filled with green leaves and a few purple berries. It smells like the forest and Granny. Beside us the large river flows through the valley towards the fjord. A river in which you can rid yourself of your problems, clearly, or drown your sorrows like Even and I did when we went swimming last night.

Even sits down behind me, pulls me to him. He likes sitting like that, and so do I. It’s nice to feel him against my back, feel that he’s pulling our bodies together. “That murder was some major shit. That it happened right here. She did it out of love, it’s epic, man.” Even is calmer than earlier, when he was all outbursts and exclamation marks. Now he’s just talking to me, sitting behind me, a faceless voice.  
“An epic fail, Even. They chopped off her head and placed it on a _staur_.” I don’t turn around, I’m facing the river but I know that Even can hear the grin in my voice.  
“Do you even know what a _staur_ is?” Even nudges my shoulder, places his face against my neck, kisses me lightly.  
“Of course I do! Jesus, what do you take me for!” I lay my head against Even’s face, trying to nip his teasing in the bud. A _staur_ is some sort of a stand I guess. What the fuck do I know. Some executioner thing or something. 

“Of course you do!” Even kisses my ear. I know he’s laughing so I give him a little shove. He slides his hand under my T-shirt, strokes my back with his palm. I close my eyes a minute, it’s lovely to feel his warm hand on my skin. I didn’t realise I was stressed out about doing boyfriend things when we’re together with the guys, but after their song today I notice I’m totally relaxed now. There are some things we’ve never talked about that were suddenly said in another way. I’m Isak, very gay, very happy being gay. I just can’t be bothered to talk about it.

Even has taken his hand out from under my T-shirt. Now he’s drawing on my back in big patterns. Is he writing letters? “Shall I guess?” I ask, turning backwards to look at Even.  
“There’s no use in that. You guess as well as a guinea pig in a coma.” Even laughs, continues to write.  
“Hey! I’m the master of guessing! You’re writing, no? Yummy-yum?” I whisper the last bit. There are still limits to how saccharine sweet we can be in front of the others, right? But Even laughs out loud and repeats it, so there was no use in being discreet.  
“Yummy-yum? Hello! I mean you are, but baby talk?”

“Don’t you have affectionate nicknames for each other?” Magnus barges into the conversation. He looks like he’s done picking blueberries. The red mixing bowl in front of him is half full, all berries, no leaves. His fingers are purple, and when he smiles it’s easy to see that he’s been eating as well as picking. His question has another tone today, not like he’s trying to get into our underpants, under the duvet. “Vilde calls me her lion, it’s totally sweet! Not only sweet, sometimes it’s not me-me she means, but then she says lion DICK, you know, so….”

“Okay. Thank you, Magnus. Oversharing, remember?” Mahdi bores his eyes into Magnus, who stiffens, holds up his hands placatingly and nods in agreement. It’s strange, I feel a little twinge in my heart, I’m a bit moved. They understand more than I thought, they’re trying to be considerate. I get a strange desire to share something, to give Magnus a little something back, acknowledge that I see he’s restraining himself for my sake.   
“Yeah, we have a few pet names. Everyone does.” However, saying one out loud proves much more embarrassing than I expected, particularly because Even reacts by wrapping his arms around me and hugging me so tightly that we fall backwards into a blueberry bush. Embarrassing, but okay. And a little amusing to hear Magnus shout out in surprise, “Huh? Kitty cat? Seriously, Isak, I would never have believed it! Kitty cat!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Norwegian word _staur_ tranlates to _pole_ in English. The Norwegian word is common, but still a word that an urban 18-year old boy might not know the meaning of. 
> 
> The murder tale is a true story. Exciting places, these fjords in Western Norway!


	20. Master of guessing – flashback to May 2017

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to May 2017

**FRIDAY, 19 MAY 2017  
14:38 **

Isak and Even are sitting on a bench outside the school. Isak has his back to Even, sitting cross-legged on the bench.  
They’re waiting for the boys. Even is tracing letters on Isak’s back.

“You’re only wearing a T-shirt, you should be able to feel what I’m writing!”  
Isak is wrinkling his nose, concentrating. “But, fuck, Even, you keep changing the words! Pretty difficult for me to guess!”

Even laughs loudly, places his hands on Isak’s shoulders, gives him a shake. “You are so incredibly bad at guessing! I’m writing the same thing all the time!”

“I’m the fucking master of guessing! Do it again!” Isak straightens his back and looks straight ahead in serious concentration.

Even grins and traces letters on Isak’s back again. Isak twitches, wrinkles his brows, turns and looks at Even in surprise.  
“Even, seriously? ‘Master of screwing?’ Isn’t that a bit much?”

Even laughs loudly again, hugs Isak, kisses him on the head. “Wow, you’re seriously the master of guessing!”

The other boys are crossing the schoolyard on a beeline towards them. Isak throws up his hands, “What did you write then?” 

Even leans in close to Isak, gives him a little wet kiss and says softly, “My kitty cat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know. You didn’t ask for it, but you got it anyway! A explanation of kitty cat, here you go <3   
> This is also a text that was previously published on Facebook.


	21. We’ve all been there

**17:11 EVEN**

It’s fucking fantastic to see Isak so happy! He’s flinging himself off the floating dock, getting a running start at the beginning of the tiny gangplank, running two long strides across the dock and throwing himself upwards and outwards into the water. His arms and legs are spread out in an x-formation, but he doesn’t manage to pull them in before hitting the water. Jonas follows on his heels, getting a running start from the deck, working up maximum speed before he jumps off. He doesn’t manage to pull his arms in either before he lands in the fjord. Mahdi is wading and filming the jumps. He’s got water up to his knees and is laughing so hard he can’t hold the phone straight.   
  


“Film me! Film me all the way from here!” Magnus takes off from the deck, runs down the gangplank, extending his body and throwing himself outwards, hitting the surface with his belly and chest.  
“Full frontal! _Dødsing_ fail!” Mahdi is bent over laughing, clutching his stomach while still trying to film the three hollering heads bobbing in the water. I’m laughing, too, and feeling a bit sorry for Magnus and his belly.  
  


“Come on, Even!” Mahdi turns the camera towards me. I’m comfortably spread out on the deck and wasn’t actually thinking about participating in the brand-new sport ‘floating dock _dødsing_ ’.   
“You’re probably terrific, you’ve got such long arms!” “Take a huge running start! Or else you’ll end up in a belly flop.” They’re shouting encouragements one after the other. I know how to _dødse_ , and I’ll be forced to join them anyway.  
“Let me just get undressed first!” I take off my t-shirt, let my shorts fall onto the deck and step out of them. None of us could be bothered to run up to the cabin and get our bathing suits when we came back from blueberry picking, so my underpants will have to do. Unfortunately, they’re one of my light, discoloured grey pairs. One of the boxers that were once white before Isak became responsible for doing the laundry. He throws everything that needs washing into one machine, giving no consideration to colour or material. Washes it all on 40 degrees C with Omo colour liquid detergent. Everything in the dryer on extra dry. If it doesn’t survive, it’s not worth having. Quote, end quote, Isak Valtersen. I don’t have much to say on the matter. I’m better at sorting the laundry than Isak, but I forget to take the clothes out of the washer, and they end up staying there so long that they start to smell and he refuses to wear them. Can’t say I haven’t tried.   
  


I’m feeling a bit awkward, very aware that I’m a tall, thin, not particularly muscular guy standing here in his underpants. I’m also pale and lanky, so it’s actually quite fitting that I’m standing here in sagging, discoloured cotton. The other four are looking up at me chanting, “Even! Even! Even!”   
Isak is bouncing up and down in the water, waving me towards them, “Come on in, Even! It’s not cold!”  
  


I get a couple of extra metres to work up speed by starting at the back of the deck. My legs are long, the guys are right, I’m running with large strides over the deck, across the patch of packed earth with its few tufts of grass, and cover the gangplank in one and a half strides, hitting the floating dock hard. The dock rocks heavily, and I need only one long stride before I feel the edge under my bare foot. I tense my muscles and jump as far outwards into the water as I can. My knees bend in the spring. Once in the air, I open my arms and legs in an ‘x’ and then frenetically try to pull them in before hitting the dark blue water. It feels like a fail. I leaned forwards in the jump, so I land on my chest and belly first. My arms and legs are still spread out; a nanosecond is not enough to pull one’s body into a ball. I hear laughter from every direction when I surface, laughter that is definitely at my expense, and is wonderfully befreeing. I would’ve liked to laugh along, but I have to bend over and catch my breath. I cough up some salt water, shake my head to get my fringe out of my eyes.  


“Long legs are not an advantage!” “Belly flop!” “Excellent run-up, Even!” There’s shouting and splashing and loud laughter. The water’s not too cold, either.  
  


“What are you boys doing? I heard you hollering all the way from the cabin.”  
Kåre has suddenly appeared in the middle of the deck, with a closed, strict expression. It is immediately very clear that he is a grown man. And we are not. He’s wearing shorts like ones I’ve seen in photos of my father on holiday before I was born. A geometric print, rather garish colours, knee-length. Doesn’t Chris have a jacket like that? The shorts have spots of brown paint on one leg, covering the mint-green bit. He’s bare-chested under his open tracksuit jacket. The jacket looks pretty modern, but it’s clearly been used at the cabin for years. It, too, is covered in paint spots and there’s a large tear on one pocket. Kåre’s chest is deeply tanned, like the rest of him, and is covered in short, white hairs. Our laughter stops abruptly and I quickly glance over at Isak. We’ve been given a number of admonitions on how to behave in the sea and on the boat, so we’ve probably broken at least one of Kåre’s rules. “Don’t shout and cry for help when you’re swimming, boys! Have you heard the tale about the boy who was herding sheep? The one with the wolf? No? Listen up….” Followed by a strange story about a boy who was bored and shouted so loudly that a wolf came. Regardless, we’ve probably been hollering way too much down here.  
  


“Are you _dødsing_? Is that what’s going on? _Dødsing_?” Kåre nods at us when he asks.   
Magnus replies with a weak “yes,” while we others keep treading water, waiting for Kåre to scold us.  
“I’m the fjord champion in _dødsing_!” Kåre tears off his jacket, steps out of his sandals and runs towards the floating dock with terrific power and weight. The wood creaks when he lands on the middle of the dock, but he’s got a real spring for someone so old, so he bounces up again and jumps outwards into the water. His arms and legs are extended, and he looks like a flying star. In the short second he’s in the air, he quickly pulls in his arms and folds his legs under him. Kåre hits the water in an oval, like an egg. Mahdi is still at the water’s edge, filming. He looks straight out impressed. “Fuck, Kåre, that was the best jump today!” We holler our enthusiasm, words of praise peppering Kåre as he pops out of the water, glistening.  


“Don’t shout so loudly down here, boys!” he says, before laying on his back and floating peacefully in the water with his eyes closed. I look at Isak. Let my gaze move on to Jonas, Magnus, Mahdi. All five of us are silently dying, struggling to hold in a cascade of bubbling laughter trying to make its way out; our eyes are watering and small explosions of giggles and snorts are escaping through our mouths.  
  


I swim over to Isak, bump his shoulder, splash some water at him. “Nice jump, Isak!”  
He splashes water back at me, in my face. “Seriously, Even, it was better than yours. Belly flop?”  
Then he throws himself at me, grabs me by the shoulders and dunks me. Stays there and takes hold of me when I surface, coughing. Kåre is still floating several metres from us, bobbing on the surface. I expect Isak to take it easy on the hugging and kissing, so I’m surprised when he gently strokes my hair back, away from my forehead. Surprised and happy. There’s such sureness in his gesture. Even though I know that what Isak does in public doesn’t define what he feels for me, it feels so good to see him like this, so carefree. It fits so well with the loose, laughing Isak who was just swimming and goofing around with the boys.  


He’s bouncing up and down in the water again, but this time he doesn’t dunk me. He wraps his legs around my waist, his arms around my shoulders. I wrap my arms around him, my hands crossed under his bum. The water comes up to our chests, so the fact that we’re practically glued together under the surface is our own private secret. We smile at each other. Isak kisses me lightly. I want to kiss more, always more, but I hold back. We can kiss more later, when we’re alone. What I want most now is to tease him a bit.  
  


“Now I know where your competitive side comes from. It’s clearly inherited!” I say softly into Isak’s ear. I don’t want to Uncle Kåre to hear. For all I know he’s a champion in listening as well.  
“Pull it together, Even! I’m just better at jumping than you are, dude!” Isak laughs cheekily. It’s always easy to wind him up.   
I move my hands, one to each side of his bum. I wink at him, send him an air kiss and say breezily, “But not better than me at throwing, kitty cat!”   
Isak looks confused, doesn’t see it coming. I curl forwards and bob down with Isak in my arms, pop up again and throw him backwards into the water. He lands partly on his back. There’s splashing and shouting and arms and feet sticking out of the water. “Fuck you, Even!”  
“Heey! Nice throw!” Isak’s indignant voice mixes with Magnus’s enthusiastic bellowing in the background.  
  


Kåre is still floating on his back motionless, with his arms out to the side. I see him smiling to himself while gently shaking his head.  
  


*

A little later we’re sitting on the large deck, the mood is as relaxed as it was earlier. None of us have towels, but the sun is still nice and warm. It’s on its way towards the last mountaintop to the west and there’s only about an hour left before it leaves us. I’m feeling the downside of swimming in underwear. My boxers are wet and cold, and the light-coloured fabric has become nearly transparent. Only Magnus and I have the white underpants problem. But he doesn’t see it as a problem. On the contrary, he’s strutting around the beach in his white boxers, searching for flat stones and trying to skip them in the water. Isak is standing next to him, tanned, broad-shouldered, with damp hair that’s beginning to curl at the nape and brow. Jesus, how I love that boy. Everything about him. Isak bends over to find the perfect stone to skip. His thigh muscles flex; they are well-defined under his tanned skin. The sunlight hits the boys, softening the contours of their bodies. I can see the soft blonde hairs on Isak’s legs, the rounded shape of his vertebrae. Although I really ought not to, particularly because of the way I’m dressed, I can’t control myself and start thinking about how it feels to stroke my hand along those tight, muscular thighs. How his torso narrows into a ‘v’ when I let my hands slide from his shoulders to his waist. How his ass is round, hard and soft all at once. How he smiles when he sees me, licks his lips just before he leans in to kiss me. Okay. It was a bad idea to think about this now. Even though Isak is 20 metres from me, even though I know it will only be a few hours until I can kiss and lick and bite every centimetre of him if I want to, if he wants me to, my body reacts like the teenage body it is. Or perhaps that’s why it’s reacting. The damp fabric is feeling tighter, I have to angle one of my thighs inwards, bend forwards a little. Best to stay seated now. I look over at Magnus, he’s got his back to me and to the deck, and he’s showing Isak a yoga pose that his mother does. “It’s called downward-facing dog, you know, so we thought it was a little like doggie style but it’s very difficult if you stand like this.” It helps a bit to look at him, but not much because Isak is now next to him trying to do the same pose. Fuck me and my fucking head.   
  


“So, Even. What do you say? Will you help me get the food? You’re the head chef around here, I’ve understood,” asks Kåre, clapping me on the shoulder. I shudder a little under his weight.  
“Uh. I’ll be there soon. Hehe. Head chef, yep.” I stutter a little, draw it out. It is utterly impossible to stand up right now. Kåre has invited us to eat homemade hamburgers. He’s prepared almost everything in the boathouse, but clearly expects a little help from us. I feel myself blushing. It’s an unusual feeling. I usually hide my embarrassment by becoming extra laidback. Camouflage my insecurity with coolness. But that is way too difficult to do in wet underpants that are currently way too small.  


“Hey man, take this.” Jonas tosses something at me, it lands in my lap. It’s a large towel with a children’s print. I don’t recognise the characters. They look like two large bananas in striped clothing. So fitting. And so not. I can’t decide.  
“We’ve all been there.” Jonas holds back a smile. He’s looking at me, his eyebrows lifted. “Not with Isak, though. We’ll let that be your thing.” He reaches for his can of Coke, takes a swig, looks over at the two yogis on the beach and grins.  
Oh yeah, Isak is very much my thing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dødsing, or “Death Diving”, is a Norwegian extreme sport that has daredevils jumping from a 10-meter-high board with their arms and legs spread out in an x-formation. The goal is to keep the pose for as long as possible and curl your body slightly right before hitting the water to prevent injuries. At the World Dødsing Championship, a wacky competition held every summer since 2008, the diver who manages to remain flat the longest during their jump is pronounced the winner.
> 
> http://www.odditycentral.com/events/introducing-dodsing-the-craziest-sport-to-ever-come-out-of-norway.html


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